Guide Me Home
by waiting4morning
Summary: Post DA2: A life on the run is interrupted when something happens to Anders and he is forced to account for the things he's done...things he can't remember doing. How will he rebuild a life he can't remember having with a woman who is a stranger to him?
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's notes and disclaimer: This is a post-DA2 fic co-written by arysani (here on this site and on livejournal) and myself. You can find these chapters also at arysani's fic journal shiptavern if you find that format more to your liking. Originally, this was a joint round robin that started after some discussion about Justice and Anders and what would happen if Justice weakened outside of the Fade. I replied to that comment with a ficlet lead-in, arysani replied with more and the rest, as they say is history. Here is the final, finished product, edited and proofread for transitions and all those other things you ignore when you're writing off-the-cuff. Also, neither I nor arysani own Dragon Age. We'd like to own Anders and Nathaniel, but we'll content ourselves with fanfic. :DDD Enjoy!_**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The healers said they could do nothing for him, and so she watched as he slipped away from her day by day. They were alone, now. The mages from the collective had taken their leave with awkward words of condolence. She'd wanted to scream at them that he wasn't dead yet, but it was pointless. It was only a matter of time.

"It will be better this way, my love," Anders told her in a hoarse voice. "Justice will finally be free..."

Those were the last words she heard him speak before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Sometime in the night she awoke to find that he had stopped breathing. She stood from the chair she'd been sleeping in and stretched, wincing at the cramp in her neck. She felt empty, hollow. _Now what?_She turned to look out the window as if the coming dawn would tell her anything.

A groan. She whirled around, groping for daggers that weren't there. Anders was stirring on the bed, his hands rubbing his eyes. He... was alive?

"Maker's breath!" Hawke whispered and rushed to his side. "Anders! You're... you're..." She couldn't say it, for the chance that it was a dream and she'd wake up.

The blond mage blinked and stared up at her. "I... I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Hawke laughed in relief. "Rotten timing for a joke."

He frowned. "Who are you? Are you... a Grey Warden? This doesn't look like the Keep... Where's Commander Caron?"

Hawke sat down on the bed slowly. "You're... not joking."

"No, my head hurts too much." He grimaced.

"Does the name Justice mean anything to you?" She watched his reaction closely.

Anders blinked. "He was... a Fade spirit that possessed the body of a dead Grey Warden. Disappeared after awhile though. Hope the poor bugger made it back okay."

"So you... don't remember anything from the last ten years?"

"Ten years? Maker's tits! What happened?"

"I... don't even really know where to start."

"Well where you come into this might help," he looked down pointedly at her hand on his knee, an unconscious gesture. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, I do like a pretty girl, but, a bit confused just now."

She drew her hand away quickly, trying and failing to keep the hurt off her face. "I... my name is Hawke." She ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, I'll try to make this quick..."

#

She finished her story and he stared at her. Then he laughed, a sound that startled her for how rarely she'd heard it over the past couple of years.

"Oghren put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Anders—"

"No wait, he's not creative enough to do that. Nathaniel: that crafty bastard. Oghren and Nathaniel got me drunk, and you're some pretty Warden recruit sent to fill my head with... well, it's a pretty good story, I'll admit."

"Anders, please..."

"No, nope, absolutely not," he was still smiling, though now it held a tinge of panic that crept into his eyes. He stood and moved away from her, couldn't stand to look at her face, hurt and confused.

"Anders, I—" she stood and stepped towards him, reaching out, and he smacked her hand away, his face now more familiar in a deep, displeased frown.

"Stop. Stop talking to me like that, like you know me. You don't. This isn't funny any more and I'd like," he raised his voice, looking around the room for hiding places, "whoever is in on this to stop it right now!"

"You're right," she turned the hurt in on herself and crossed her arms over her chest. "It isn't funny. Nothing in the last decade of my life has been funny. I thought I was watching you die! How do you think I feel!"

"I don't know." The anger bled out of his voice and he cocked his head at her, still suspicious. "I can't imagine it was pleasant. But I'd like to go home now."

"Home is gone, Anders."

"What? How? Even a legion of darkspawn couldn't take it down!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The Keep! Vigil's Keep! What are you talking about?"

She snorted. "The last home I knew was burned down by templars looking for you."

His eyes grew round. "...Why were templars looking for me? Wardens are outside their reach! Sure," and his face grew bitter again, "they can be recruited, but... you're... telling the truth, aren't you? You're not... lying to me. This isn't some sort of nightmare," he said quietly, and slid down the wall, putting his head in his hands.

"No. This isn't something we can wake up from," she replied quietly, and turned away. "Believe me, I've tried."

Silence stretched between them like a taut bow string.

"So... where are we? Not the Keep I take it?" he asked after a moment.

"We're... in a safe house run by the Mages' Collective."

Anders blinked. "Really? Huh. Never thought they were much use before. Seemed like all they ever wanted was for someone to do stupid stuff like inscribing glyphs on trees and such."

"They have been forced to change, as we all have, just to survive, Anders."

He looked away. She could tell that he was still fighting the truth of what she had told him.

"So... what now?"

"I don't know. You've always been the one sort of...running this circus."

He scoffed. "Well that's where it all went wrong. I'm under strict orders to not run anything more dangerous than a bake sale after that thing with the scratchweed in the Revered Mother's bed."

"Well we can get some rest, at least. I'm exhausted, and you're an amnesiac. If I'm going to come up with a plan, I'm not going to do it on this much sleep." She stripped the heavy tunic and shucked her trousers, climbing into the bed. He just stood and stared.

"Maker's mercy, Anders. Just get into bed."

He waited until she rolled over and closed her eyes before climbing in on the other side and laying facing away from her. He never slept on this side of the bed. His eyelids drooped, but his mind raced; it took him forever to fall asleep.

#

He awoke some hours later; how long, he wasn't sure, but daylight was shining through the window. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stretched... and froze as an arm laid carelessly over his chest moved with him.

Everything from the night before came back. The confusion, this Hawke woman; her... story. It had to be a lie. Anders would never... do the things she said he did. He would prove it. Moving the arm from his chest, he glanced at Hawke's sleeping face—she was drooling onto the pillow a little—and inspected her hand. Blood mages always gave themselves away, either by deed or, if you could get close enough to see, the scars from where they cut themselves to harness their power. Anders dropped her hand after a moment, disappointed. Hawke's hands were scarred, but with irregular scrapes and calluses. He'd healed enough soldiers at the Keep to recognize the hands of a swordswoman. Blood mage scars were usually straight and clean; clinical, almost.

So she wasn't a mage controlling him. That didn't mean anything. She could be anyone...

He looked at her face again—still asleep—and slipped out of bed, gazing around the unfamiliar room. A patched and frayed pack sat in a corner by a chest of drawers. Was it hers? He upended the pack on the floor; hurriedly searching through the odds and ends for... he didn't know what. Something, anything.

There was a small bag of coins, a cheap armor amulet, a few health potions and several lyrium potions—his? Next he unfolded a map. It seemed to be mostly of Ferelden and the Free Marches. Xs were scattered across the map; the one on Kirkwall had been scrawled so hard that it had ripped through. The map reminded him that he didn't really know where in Thedas they were. She'd said a Mage Collective safe house—and they only worked out of Ferelden, right? He couldn't remember.

There was one last thing in the pack.

The tattered journal was tied shut with wax string, a place marked with an amulet of some sort dangling from the bottom. He turned the amulet over in his hand, rubbed at the relief, puzzling out why it seemed vaguely familiar. When it dawned on him, he dropped the journal like it had been on fire. It lay on the floor amidst the rest of the knick-knacks. A Tevinter Chantry amulet. Well that gave him a whole new insight on the woman. That kind of shit _would _get you hunted and killed.

He looked over at the bed, and she was still. After a moment's hesitation (_what, Anders, it's not like you haven't read a girl's diary before_), he reached for the journal and untied the string, letting it fall open to the marked page.

_I'm losing him more and more every day. He won't wear the amulet anymore, because it is a symbol of 'disguised' oppression. I used to be able to tell the difference between them. Now I wonder if Justice (Vengeance? I am never sure_—_he calls him Justice, but is that just grasping at impossible hopes?) hasn't gotten...smarter. His voice may not change, that light may not be in his eyes, but it's in the way he speaks. Whatever that is inside him is slowly killing him, replacing him. Am I going to wake up one day and it won't be him at all?_

He clapped the journal shut, flinching at the way the sound echoed.

"Now do you believe me?"

Anders glanced behind him. Hawke was propped up on one elbow in the bed, her hair tousled from sleep. She face was sad and worn. He looked away.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she sighed. "Feel free to read the rest. Maybe it'll help you remember, if that's even possible."

Anders swallowed and tucked the journal into the pack. Maybe he would read it… just not now. "How... how did I get like this?" he gestured vaguely in the air.

Hawke glanced up from where she was tugging on her trousers. "A couple of months back you started getting ill—got tired more easily. You told me that Justice was weakening," she said in a quiet voice. "He'd been outside the Fade too long. Apparently having a... host only prolonged the inevitable. We nearly got caught a few days ago, but that last effort to get rid of the templars..." She shook her head, mouth tightening at the memory. "It must have pushed the limits of his strength over the edge." She shrugged. "And you know the rest."

Anders fought the urge to rub his arms to chase away the gooseflesh. It was a bizarre experience, listening to someone recite a portion of your life that you had absolutely no memory of. And he would have to take it on faith that this woman was telling the truth.

"So, where are we going?" He put the rest of the trinkets back into the pack, anything to avoid thinking about what he was still trying to accept.

Hawke pulled her head through a shirt, combing her hair out of her eyes. "Well, we said a long time ago that we'd only contact the Wardens if we were desperate. I'd say this counts as desperate. We're in Highever, since you probably forgot that too. Amaranthine is a few days' walk, so we'd better get started if you're feeling up to it." She paused. "Unless you have any better options?"

He let out an uneasy chuckle. "I don't even know what our options are, much less which ones are better, so...lead the way." He tried to get up from the floor and heard his joints creak as he stood. "Okay. Ow."

The first smile he'd seen on her face, albeit small, shone as she pulled her hair back in a thong. "That's what you get for sitting on the floor, old man."

"Old man? I never even thought of that! I've missed the prime of my life! I'm... holy Maker, I'm thirty-five years old! Forget all this other crazy nonsense, I'm more upset that valuable years of drinking," he ticked them off on his fingers, "one-night stands, and shenanigans are all lost! Gone! I've aged before my time!" He sobered on the dramatics a little, smiling at her. "I'll never get those years back, you know."

The look on her face was something between confused and amused, like she wanted to laugh, but wasn't sure if it was allowed. "We should... really get going, if we're going to make good time."

"Right. On task, as ever! Don't worry about Anders, he'll deal with these epic insights into his completely bonkers recent past in long-suffering silence," he held up his hands in surrender.

She frowned. "I didn't mean..."

"I know. This probably isn't your idea of the best time ever either. But at least now I have something to look forward to," his face lit up and then he seemed to rethink his joy. "Even that rat bastard Rolan would be a welcome sight—at least I know when he's around I'm about to get screwed. And not in the fun way." She watched him turn away from her and heft the pack up. Rolan. The name rang a bell, but she couldn't quite recall why. "Alright then, to Vigil's Keep!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hawke poked her head out of the door, but the alley was clear so she gestured Anders out. Highever was a bustling port town. It was one of the few in Ferelden to not be directly hit by the Blight—the only trouble it had was the overcrowding of refugees fleeing the southern parts of the Bannorn. But that was nearly ten years ago and no sign of the city's old troubles were in evidence today. If anything, the amount of people moving to the city had helped it: it now rivaled Amaranthine for position of most important northern port of Ferelden. Hawke and Anders had arrived in the city a week before—though Anders by that time had been so weak that she nearly had to carry him to the safe house.

Hawke kept them to the back alleys, keeping a peripheral eye on Anders. It was both exhilarating and agonizing to see him like this. For years she'd prayed that he'd be free of Justice, but not knowing how it would be possible aside from the usual method of dealing with abominations; and she hadn't been able to truly consider that option. He was free, truly free, in a way he hadn't been since before she'd met him. But the cost: their life together—their hopes and dreams... gone. She inhaled a shuddering breath and pushed the hurt away. This would all be for nothing if they were caught while she was woolgathering.

They got out of Highever without issue and headed down the road. Hawke kept her hood up and had to remind Anders to do the same. They hadn't actually been recognized that often—Varric's wild stories had some benefit after all—but the templars knew they were looking for two, a man and a woman. They had been caught and questioned on that basis alone once before.

Somehow the templars managed to find them over and over again. They'd been in the habit the past two years of not staying in one place for long, but no matter what, the templars would follow. It was... troubling to say the least. How they picked up their scent time after time was something she did not like to dwell on.

Their walk the rest of the day was quiet and painful, at least for Hawke. She kept opening her mouth to ask him something or tell him something only to remember that he had no context for the memory she wanted to recall with him.

As for Anders, he kept darting looks at her when he thought she wasn't looking, his expression thoughtful, often confused, and once or twice, fearful. She didn't know what to say. What could she say? To her, he was her lover of over seven years. To him, she was a stranger. The Maker had a glorious sense of humor in the way he answered prayer.

That night they set up camp against the crumbling wall of a Tevinter ruin. Anders hesitantly requested and was given her journal. She prepped the lone rabbit she'd caught for dinner while the swishing sound of turning pages echoed in the night.

"Well if I wasn't depressed before, I am now," he mumbled, and she stuck her finger in her mouth as she turned to look at him, nursing the burned flesh after she had carelessly tried to turn the spit and caught her finger on the hot metal. "Not that I want to be nosy...okay, I do, but this starts after I apparently went batshit crazy and let the spirit of Justice do most of my thinking for me. Which, by the way, I'm still kind of pissed off about, because Justice was a pretty decent guy... you know, for being dead."

She shrugged. "You told me that when you let Justice in, he was...corrupted by your anger into the spirit of Vengeance."

His brows rose. "Vengeance isn't a spirit. Vengeance is demonic." Even in the dim flicker of the firelight, she could see the blood drain from his face. "I'm going to be sick. Excuse me." The journal fell from his hands and he stepped towards the copse of trees on the edge of their camp. She could hear him dry-heaving; Anders hadn't exactly been eating well the last few days because of his illness.

"Here, get something in your stomach." When he returned, she handed him a bowl with some of the rabbit in it, and watched him pick at the meat.

"I... am I that angry? I mean, sure, templars piss me off, Rolan really pissed me off. And I hated being in the Tower, but... I'm a Warden. I don't ever have to go back to the Tower. I... had it good. I had... friends. Reading that," he shrugged a shoulder towards the abandoned journal, "I don't think I had friends. I think I had people who watched me."

"We all care about you, Anders. None of us would've stuck around if we didn't."

"But did you stick around because you were worried I was going to do something terrible or because you actually enjoyed my company?"

Something in his face was familiar again—that need to be reassured.

She picked at her own dinner. "At first, it was...kind of thrilling to be wooed by a revolutionary. You spent all your time in that clinic, writing your manifestos," she smiled at the memory of finding them everywhere in her house, "and healing the sick, all out of the kindness of your heart. You never asked for payment from those who couldn't afford it. You were a good man. It was hard not to find that... attractive."

He huffed, a sad smile on his face. "A good man, past tense."

"Well."

"Right. That can't've earned me any favors."

"Not really. But I've decided you were sort of right. Not about the Chantry, but that it was going to happen, sooner or later. Kirkwall was built on the blood of slaves; something about that place made everything a little scarier. Maybe even before the slaves, I don't know."

She watched as he set aside his bowl, half-eaten, and pulled his blanket over his shoulders. "Going home doesn't seem so exciting anymore. They think I did horrible things; they'll never forgive me."

"We'll worry about that later. Eat the rest of your dinner, we may not be so lucky tomorrow."

#

If they kept a good pace, the next day would complete their journey. They paused when the sun was high in the sky for a break and lunch.

"Can we have something other than rabbit?" Anders said, wrinkling his nose when she got out her shortbow.

"You're welcome to help me hunt if you want some variety."

"Really?" he perked up and grabbed his staff. "Let's go!"

Not long later, Hawke was slapping out the burning feathers that rained down on her after Anders got too excited at the sight of a wild turkey and... well, they certainly wouldn't have to roast their catch over a fire now.

"Sorry," he said with a wince, helping brush off the feathers, some of which were still burning. "I've always been good with the fire element."

"I should have known better," Hawke muttered. "You've never been one for subtlety. Ow!" A burning brand landed on the back of her hand.

"Are you hurt? Let me see that."

The soft glow of healing magic lit between them and for a brief, painful moment, it was like nothing had changed. Hawke swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to pick up the charred carcass of the turkey once he'd healed the burn.

"For what it's worth—and I know that's not much—I'm sorry." Anders rubbed the back of his head. "For... well, the things I did that I don't remember doing." He frowned, suddenly sheepish. "Well, you know what I mean. And this can't be easy on you either. So... I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said automatically then stopped, biting her lip. "No, actually. It's not okay. It hasn't been okay for many years, but... I'm almost used to it by now and to be honest, I... well, my fate is bound to yours for better or for worse. I will see this through."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They reached the arling of Amaranthine as night was falling. On previous nights they would have stopped hours earlier to make camp, but with their goal so close, they pushed their weary legs onward until the shadowy bulk of Vigil's Keep rose up in front of them.

"Who goes! The Keep does not entertain visitors at this hour!"

Anders swallowed, looking up at the silhouette of the man calling from the top of the tower. "I almost don't want to go in," he said to her, still looking up. "Does that make me a coward?" He hesitated. "Let's leave. This was a bad idea."

"And go where?"

He sighed, giving her a self-deprecating smile. "Point. Alright then." He cupped one hand beside his mouth and yelled up at the watchman. "Warden seeking lodging for the night!"

"We weren't told of no Wardens comin'!"

"Is... Warden Nathaniel in residence?"

"He's sleepin'! Like the rest of 'em!"

"I don't think they're going to let us in," he looked at her, slightly downtrodden even though moments ago he was ready to run.

She frowned and cupped her hands over her mouth. "I'm Hawke, from Kirkwall! I was told I'd be welcomed at Vigil's Keep no matter the hour!"

"Marian?"

She squinted in the darkness at the second figure that appeared and then grinned. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed, little sister?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in Orlais?"

"Plans change! You going to let us in?"

"I suppose I have to if I don't want to wake half the Keep with all this shouting!" Anders heard the girl laugh, and beside him, Hawke looked almost... happy.

The sound of chains and then the creaking of wood and metal gave way to the courtyard. He stood on the threshold, watching a girl walk calmly down the stairs and go to Hawke, embracing her tightly. He watched them murmur to each other for a moment, and then looked down. There was a line drawn there, an invisible one. This was the life he left behind, for reasons he still didn't understand. It was a life he very likely couldn't have back, even if he wanted it.

He stepped forward, into Vigil's Keep.

#

Bethany stepped back from her sister's embrace, looking warily at Anders, but he was fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve and didn't notice her gaze. Marian tugged on her arm and they started walking.

"Not that I'm unhappy to see you, sister," Bethany said as they walked through the quiet courtyard. "But what are you doing here so late? Are you in trouble? Did the templars catch up with you?"

Hawke glanced behind at Anders. He was frowning as he looked at the outlying buildings in the yard—the smithy, the dungeons, and several of the homes nestled off to the side—as if he was expecting them to look different.

"I... it's a long story, Bethany, and I'm not sure I have the energy to tell it tonight. But the good news is that, no, the templars are not on our tail at the moment. We gave them the slip in Highever. How are things here?"

"Quiet but good. The Warden-Commander has been here for a few weeks, which means we've been getting a lot of practice in the sparring ring, and I've been getting more practice with healing magic." She glanced back at Anders. "I have some things I've wanted to ask Anders about. I can heal wounds but diseases are tricky."

She led them into the inner parts of the Keep, through dimly lit hallways past rooms with snoring occupants until finally reaching a room that was empty. It was smaller, and obviously more used as storage these days than for people. A few spare shields with the griffin crest lay scattered about as well as some crates and stacks of blankets. But it had a bed with sheets that didn't seem to be too dusty.

"Sorry it's not bigger. If I'd known you were coming..." Bethany said in apology.

"It's a bed, that's all I care about," Hawke said, slinging off her pack and unbuckling her sheaths, removing her daggers with a sigh of relief. Anders stepped into the room, frowning until Bethany asked him what was wrong.

"I used to share a room with Oghren back there," he said, gesturing vaguely behind him. "I mean, Maker knows I'd rather not ever smell drunken dwarf breath again, but this is just... weird."

Bethany looked confused. Hawke shook her head. _Tomorrow_, she mouthed and her sister left.

There was no basin of water for washing up, so Hawke simply peeled off her leathers and crawled under the sheets with a sigh of relief. She was nearly asleep until she realized Anders hadn't joined her. Turning over, she saw him still in the middle of taking off his boots. He caught her gaze and tried to smile. "Everything here seems different from what I remember. Do you think they'll let us stay?"

"I don't know," Hawke said, yawning. "For a few days, I hope; until we can figure out what to do."

Anders hesitated; then crept under the sheets, careful not to touch her. "I'm... I'm glad you're here with me. I never would have gotten this far on my own."

"Mmm," she murmured. He looked over at her and she was asleep.

#

The next morning they were both rudely awakened by a shout in the hallway and the thump of boots. "Where is he? I'll kill him myself!"

"Nathaniel!"

The door was slammed open by a not-entirely-dressed Howe looking fit to be tied with Bethany hovering behind him. Hawke sat up abruptly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and held a hand out.

"Nathaniel, calm down."

"I _will not_ 'calm down,'" he began, and out of the corner of her eye, Hawke saw a hand come up to rest on his bicep, only to be shrugged off. "_What_is that murderer doing in my house?"

"Hey!" Anders peeked out from behind Hawke, clutching the sheet to his chest like he was covering his indecency. "This is my house too! Or... it was! And I take offense to that 'murderer' thing," he started to gain momentum and slid out of the bed, standing on the opposite side in nothing but his smalls, pointing his finger at Nathaniel. "You've killed lots of people too!"

"I never blew up a Chantry or killed my _brothers_, you good-for-nothing revolutionary _bastard_!" Nathaniel advanced towards the bed, and Hawke was frozen in place, watching Anders leap up onto the mattress to avoid being caught.

"I'm not a bastard! My parents were wed in a Chantry, thank YOU very much!"

"Get down from there, you _child_!"

"Hey, hey!" Hawke slid around and knelt on the bed, effectively putting herself between the two men and holding her palms out towards each of them.

"How could you bring him here, Hawke?" This time Nathaniel's gravelly ire was turned on her.

"You told me I could always count on the Wardens if I ever really needed help. Well, I do now."

"I—_we_will not help you hide from your templars!"

"There's more to it, Nathaniel," Hawke began, and then watched as her sister closed the distance between her and the other Warden. Bethany put on hand on Nathaniel's lower back, the other on his arm.

"She promised us an explanation," she said quietly, and while he seemed to heed her, stepped away, his eyes still flashed with anger. Hawke, however, couldn't keep her eyes off the way he briefly touched her sister's hand on his arm, or the way Bethany kept... touching him.

"Which I'd also love to hear," a new voice came from the doorway. Another man, large and clad in a loose tunic, breeches and untied boots to match Nathaniel's, leaned against the doorjamb. "Fights in my keep were not exactly the way I wanted to start my morning. Someone care to enlighten me?"

"Commander." Nathaniel nodded his head, and Anders raised a brow, taking in the man. That was not the one who had been in charge when he left. Not Orlesian for one thing...

"Come now boys, let's take this discussion downstairs. You're scaring the new kids. Marian," his tone was still even, his body language relaxed, but a little anger bled into his gaze when he looked at her, "I hope you have a good reason to be bringing that man into our home."

"I do, Alistair. Just... give us a chance to get dressed?"

"Of course," he nodded his head and straightened. "Come on, you," he nodded at Nathaniel and Bethany, "get dressed and meet me downstairs."

The door closed, leaving them alone again, Anders still standing on the bed behind her.

"Wow. Nathaniel and your sister? Why didn't you tell me you Hawkes had a thing for Wardens? Suddenly it all makes sense," he jibbed and she whipped her head around to look up at him, frowning.

"I didn't know," she hissed darkly, and he held up his hands.

"Ooh. Sore subject. Right. Forget I brought it up!" His laugh was stifled by a pillow thrown at his face.

"Get dressed. And how can you laugh at a time like this?"

"I laugh, darling, because if I didn't I might cry. Let me have that, won't you?" He winked and she frowned at him, watching him hop off the bed and reach for his robes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Hawke and Anders arrived downstairs, Bethany was waiting to guide them to Alistair's office.

"He doesn't want to make a fuss in front of everyone," she explained they skirted the edge of the mess hall, hearing the rumble of voices within.

It was on the tip of Hawke's tongue to question her sister on this sudden revelation about Nathaniel, but there was no time as they arrived at the Warden-Commander's quarters. She would definitely have a talk with her baby sister in the near future, however.

Alistair was standing at a side table near the window, drinking something from a mug. Nathaniel glowered at them from the opposite wall. The Commander nodded as they entered and gestured to the table, which Hawke finally noticed was covered in platters of food.

"Dig in, if you like. Grey Wardens don't argue well on empty stomachs."

Anders brightened and even Nathaniel's look of loathing eased up a little as they both concentrated on filling their plates. Bethany followed suit. Hawke shook her head at a memory: the first week Anders had moved into the Amell estate had been a shock to her food budget. The man was as lean as a cat but he ate enough to keep a small family satisfied.

"Now," Alistair said as they all sat down with their various plates and mugs of hot Seheron tea, "last time I saw you, Marian, you and Anders were on your way to Orlais, yes?"

"Wait a minute," Anders said, swallowing a bite of toast. He stared at Alistair. "Who are you exactly? Where is Commander Gerod Caron?"

Every eye in the room stared at him. Anders glanced at them, and his eyes flickered to Hawke. "I should know this, shouldn't I?"

Hawke sighed. "This is what I needed to explain," she said. "Over the past several months, Anders has been… weakening. Justice was weakening. A few nights ago in Highever, Justice… left."

"Wait, what do you mean he _left_?" Nathaniel leaned forward, brows furrowed. He glanced at Anders as if suspecting an elaborate prank, but the mage seemed oddly intent on getting as much egg on his fork as possible.

"Justice… died, for a lack of a better term. He and Anders are no longer… together."

"We were moving in different directions; he needed some time to discover himself; he thought we should see other people—"

"Anders this is _not _helping." Hawke glared at him. "In short, Justice is gone and with him, Anders' memories." She looked down at her untouched plate. "He doesn't even remember me."

Alistair sat back in his chair, slurping from his mug. "So, how far back does this memory loss go?"

Hawke shrugged. "About ten years. Right before he and Justice merged. As far as he knows, Justice—inhabiting Kristoff's body—keeled over one day and no one heard from him again."

Nathaniel looked from Anders to Hawke in stunned silence. "You mean… he has no memory of what he did to the Chantry? To Rolan?"

"No." Hawke looked back at Alistair. "That's why we came—I don't know what to do, if anything can be done. He's now a wanted criminal for a crime he doesn't remember committing!" She rubbed her forehead. "We just needed a place to stay for awhile; to figure out what to do. Please, Alistair."

Alistair smirked and shrugged, digging into his breakfast. "I have to say, unbelievable stories and you have always gone hand-in-hand in my mind, but this is pretty high up on the 'crazy' scale." He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and Hawke picked at her food. "I don't know how much we can help you, outside of a guest room. Things are heating up here too; a little more like molasses than the rest of Thedas, but I think everyone has accepted that Ferelden's inherent backwater... ness means that we're always a little behind the curve."

"A place to sleep while I sort this out is all I ask." She gave him a slight smile and he nodded. They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, forks ringing against tin plates, and the teapot being passed around before Nathaniel broke the silence.

"You really don't remember _anything_?"

"I remember quite a lot of things. I remember the time you and Oghren got so drunk that I found the two of you curled up like puppies behind Caron's 'special throne'... and if I recall," he tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Oghren was wearing _your _trousers," he smiled brightly at the other Warden.

Bethany clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a snort-laugh, and Nathaniel only glared at her a moment before pointing his fork at Anders. "Stop that. Stop pretending like none of it happened. Even if you don't remember it, you _did_ it."

Anders gave him a tight smile. "Yes, please, remind me again of all the horrible things I did that I don't remember doing. It's been at least three minutes since someone's done that!"

"How are we to know this isn't some trick?"

Hawke shot him a dark look. "You really think I'd lay this sort of ruse on you?"

"How sure are you that he isn't tricking you?"

"Pretty sure," she bit out.

"Well let's just solve this here and now," Bethany piped up, and Nathaniel and Alistair both turned quizzical looks on her.

"What?" their voices asked in unison, but she didn't replay, only wiggled her fingers at Anders, letting out a jolt of magic, to which he twitched and clutched at his chest, frowning.

"Ow! What'd you that for? That hurt!"

Bethany smiled. "Little trick you showed me. Easiest way to tell if a person is possessed is to threaten them. If that spirit of his was still in there," she spoke to everyone but trained her gaze on Nathaniel, "it would've lashed out at me. So. That question answered."

"I really wish you would've warned me," Nathaniel growled, and she gave him a little smile.

"Eat your breakfast," she chided, and reached her hand under the table to lay her hand on his knee. He only harrumphed at her and stabbed at the fried ham.

Hawke pulled her eyes away from the little domestic scene and turned her gaze back on Alistair. "So Ferelden's Circle is revolting as well?"

Alistair sat back again, rubbing his neck. "Weeeelll not so much revolting as... dissolving. Queen Anora and Prince Cousland granted a certain amount of autonomy to the Circle, and the Divine—who's still an Orlesian at the end of the day—allowed it because she figured they'd all rise up and kill us all, making the whole country ripe for another invasion or something. That fellow Cullen, the Knight-Commander over your end of the map, bitched about it for years, and then... stopped. Haven't heard a word from the Divine or anyone, for that matter, but there's fewer and fewer mages in the Tower every year. Some folks send their children there, but they're not as young as they used to be, and they leave soon after, taking positions with noble houses and such. It's just... fading away."

"What about the templars?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "They're still around, but they're in the cities and in the Chantries. Fewer of them too since they don't need as many for the Tower."

"And what about in the Wardens? Still recruiting templars to watch over the mages?" Anders narrowed his eyes at Alistair.

Hawke watched his face furrow and was thrown all over again—sometimes he was so familiar and others, so strange.

Alistair huffed and gave the mage a disarming smile. "I have to watch that one," he thumbed towards Bethany and she threw a bit of biscuit at him, which he dodged with smooth effort, "all the time. But no, not as a rule."

Anders slid his chair back, standing. "_You're _a templar?"

"In all the ways but the ones that count!" he acceded cheerfully.

"Sit down, Anders," Hawke instructed, and he obeyed, but kept his body tense, as though he expected to run.

"Never took my vows, and the smell of lyrium makes my stomach turn, but I did all the training," he said, spreading jam on a bit of toast. "Not a lot of templars to recruit these days, much less those who haven't gotten themselves addicted. It's a hard thing, coming off that, even for those who haven't been on it long. And I don't know as the Joining does them any favors with regards to... cravings. So, to answer your question," he took a bite of his toast. "You're safe from them here, for now."

"You never did answer my question," Anders said, still watching Alistair suspiciously. "I don't remember you at all. How did you replace Commander Gerod?"

"Alistair was one of the companions of the Hero of Ferelden," Hawke said. "Prince Cousland's sister."

Anders brightened. "Oh yes, I do remember that part. Weren't you off in the Anderfels or something?"

Alistair nodded, cramming the last bit of bacon into his mouth. "Mmhmm. Loads of fun, those Wardens on the plains. Make the darkspawn seem warm and fuzzy by comparison. At any rate, I came down to take command of the arling and here I've been ever since." He swallowed the food in his mouth, glancing at Anders. "It must have been just after you merged with Justice that we were introduced. You didn't stick around long, and I was too busy finding my feet to send people after you."

"Probably for the best," Nathaniel said in an undertone. "After what he did to Rolan..."

Anders glanced at him quizzically, half hearing the remark, but Hawke questioned Alistair again.

"So, Alistair, if we're going to stay here a little while, is there anything we can do to help out? I… don't have much coin…"

Alistair waved it off. "Don't think about it, Marian. I may not have been… overjoyed to see Anders earlier, but that doesn't mean I'm going to work you like slaves to earn your keep."

"I'm sure we wouldn't object to a new sparring partner," Nathaniel said, raising an eyebrow. "Maker knows we could use someone we're not used to fighting with."

"I could help out in the infirmary, right? That's what I'm used to at any rate," Anders offered with a shrug.

"That would be helpful. Oghren's been complaining about a rash lately," Nathaniel said with a wicked grin.

The smile on Anders's face froze.

"Then it's settled," Alistair said, standing to his feet. The rest of them took that as a signal and stood as well. They filed out into the hallway where Hawke took the opportunity to touch Bethany's shoulder.

"Sister, a word if you please." She glanced up at Nathaniel who'd paused. "And you may move along. Shoo! You too," she said this last to Anders who reluctantly followed Nathaniel down the corridor.

"Ooh, sisterly confrontation!" Alistair said gleefully, leaning back in his chair inside the office. "Carry on, then. I'll be quiet. You'll hardly notice me."

Hawke closed the door, ignoring the muffled "Hey!" that came behind it.

"So," Hawke turned to her younger sister, raising an eyebrow. "You. And Nathaniel."

Bethany's eyebrows rose. "Are... both Grey Wardens! Excellent observation, Sister!" She tried to step around Hawke but found herself cornered, so she ducked under her sister's arm, only to have the collar of her tunic grabbed like she was six years old all over again.

"He's _twice your age_!"

"No he's not!" She insisted, but couldn't hold her sister's stare. She looked down at her hands, twisting them in front of her and then down the hallway, where he'd disappeared. "It's more like...well, not _exactly _twice my age... he's younger than he looks, you know! It's all that frowning..."

"I'm a little more upset that you didn't tell me," Hawke said quietly.

"What? And deprive you of the sibling justice associated with dragging me out in the hall? I'm not a child anymore, Marian."

"I know. I..." The fight went out of her and she sighed. "Nothing makes sense right now and I wanted to just curl up with my sister and cry about the horror that is my life, but now if I want to do that I'm going to have to kick someone out of bed first." She folded her arms and tried not to appear to pout.

Bethany chuckled and wrapped her arms around her sister, petting her hair. Hawke eventually unfolded her arms and returned the embrace, huffing against her sister's shoulder. "I knew it, when we were down there, you were checking out his ass," she mumbled morosely into her sister's tunic.

"We'd known each for less than a month! I don't move _that _fast."

"Good. You're supposed to be my little sister forever and imagining you and... Nathaniel..."

"Oh stop it." She smacked Hawke on the back of the head and they parted, Hawke looking put-out, but smiling. "The only one allowed to imagine Nate naked is me," Bethany teased in a sing-song voice, and Hawke smacked her hands against her ears.

"I can't heaaaarrrr youuuuu!"

"He does have a very nice ass," she continued, over her sister's protestations. "And I'm entirely ruined for normal people now," she looked down at her fingernails, "all that Grey Warden _stamina_." Hawke took one hand off an ear and put it to Bethany's mouth.

"Not. Another. Word."

"I'm just saying," she managed from behind her sister's fingers, "it wasn't very fair that you kept so mum on the subject." Hawke's hand fell away and Bethany was immediately sorry she'd brought it up. She just stared at Hawke, letting the silence stretch. "He really doesn't remember you?"

Hawke crossed her arms over her chest. "No. As far as he knows, I'm some strange woman he met about a week ago in Highever."

"Oh, Marian, I'm so sorry." Bethany hugged her sister again and this time Hawke found it harder to maintain the pretense of "everything's fine."

"He's followed me because he has no choice," she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "But he doesn't know me anymore. Maker, I almost think he's scared of me in some way—I'm the one who brought this… this horror into his life."

"You can't say that!" Bethany looked shocked. "He did it to himself—"

"I know, and he knows. But that's not how it feels. I just…" Hawke sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Maybe being here, among familiar things and people will help. What comes next, I have no idea. Maybe it would be best to leave him with the Wardens. It wouldn't be the first time they've harbored criminals under the Right of Conscription—that's how Anders was recruited in the first place."

Bethany touched her sister's arm. "You would… leave him?"

Hawke swallowed. "If he wants me to, I would," she said in a hollow voice. "Or, if the Divine sends agents to hunt us down, here… Ferelden cannot risk an Exalted March on top of possible invasions from Orlais and the qunari. Anders told me once that there are tunnels underneath the Keep extending to the Deep Roads that no one outside of the Wardens knows about. There, he could hide, the Wardens could deny ever seeing him while I draw their attention elsewhere. He could stay here and be safe."

"It won't come to that, surely," Bethany protested. "Ferelden's Circle may be dissolving peacefully, but it isn't so in other countries—the Divine's agents and templars are too busy. That's why you left Orlais, right?" Hawke nodded. "This is what you wanted, sister! Remember what you told me?"

"We want our children to grow up in a world where the Circle is a free choice for mages—a school, rather than a prison. Where families with mages in them won't be reviled like the Amells or constantly be on the run like the Hawkes," she whispered. "Where mage children aren't ever stolen away from their parents."

"It is happening!" Bethany smiled. Hawke stepped away, shaking her head.

"No. It will happen for others; not for me." She managed a watery smile at the expression on her sister's face. "But I never expected our story to have a happy ending, not after that night in Kirkwall. It's alright, Bethany. Truly. I'll get used to sleeping alone again… and, well, I have fresh Grey Warden recruits in the sparring ring to take out any frustrations on, yes?" She moved past her sister down the corridor. "Now, where is the practice yard? I hope your Nathaniel is ready for a thrashing!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Anders followed Nathaniel down the corridor and around the spiral stair for several minutes before the rogue stopped mid-step and turned to face him.

"Why are you following me?"

Anders stepped back up a step. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I... you know, a little out of sorts here," he chuckled uneasily.

Nathaniel frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I... apologize," he got out and then held up a hand, pre-empting the words out of Anders's mouth without even looking. "Don't start. This isn't easy for me."

"And how do you think _I'm_ doing? She said I blew up a _Chantry_, Nathaniel! A CHANTRY! What in the Maker's name was... what _happened_?"

Nathaniel sighed and leaned against the curved wall, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. "I was angry; for a long time. I blamed Rolan, that little bastard," he began. "I looked for you. All of us did. But then the First Warden put his foot down and told us to stop wasting resources looking for someone who had ripped Wardens in half."

"Wha..."

"I don't know. We found... bodies. Rolan's and two templars, and the other three in your group, all... fairly new Wardens."

"I don't know if I want to ask."

"I'll tell you if you do, but perhaps that's best left for later."

"So, what, I summoned a demon right in front of two templars and an 'ex' templar?"

"Justice died. Well, Kristoff's body had just become... too..." he curled his lip, "you know. And... I guess you... met him, in the Fade or something, and... let him use yours. I'm guessing it was right before you and Rolan..."

"Why would I do that? I thought he wanted to go back to the Fade?"

"You sent me one letter, after you left. You said he couldn't go back, that he would die without another host, and he was our friend, so."

Anders nodded. "Hawke said I told her that I... corrupted him. But she also told me that I knew the difference between us, that there was me, and there was Justice, this little voice inside my head. It makes me wonder, though."

"What?"

"Wouldn't I remember if we were two separate entities sharing a body?"

Nathaniel huffed. "And you think I have the answer to that?"

"I'll take anyone's answers right now. I don't have a whole lot of my own."

Nathaniel pushed away from the wall. "Come on then, I have to make rounds, make sure everyone has their orders for the day. Don't tell anyone who you are—the fewer people that know, the better."

"Ouch."

"Make up a name—the name 'Anders' associated with a mage is going to get us in trouble real quick."

"Right. I'll introduce myself as Chester," he quipped.

"That's a suitably asinine name."

"Fine! Charlie! Or... or Harold!" None of them seemed to fit, so he tried at least eight more before they reached the practice fields.

"Morning, Captain," Nathaniel said, moving up to a man observing on the edge of the field. Anders remembered belatedly that the Keep not only had Wardens but also a small complement of non-Warden soldiers and guardsmen, though there hadn't been this many in his memory.

The Captain nodded respectfully. "Warden Nathaniel, ser. I trust you slept well."

Nathaniel cast a look at Anders who grinned cheekily. "Tolerably. Captain, I'd like to introduce you to…" Nathaniel got a smirk on his face. "_Frederick_, a Grey Warden who's been out of Ferelden for a few years. He… will be staying with us until further notice."

"Glad to meet you, Warden," the Captain said, inclining his head toward Anders. "You'll be the one with Mistress Marian, then? The Commander sent word that I'd see a couple of new faces." He gestured out to the sparring ring, and Anders felt his jaw drop.

Hawke was facing three Wardens, all of whom were larger and better armored than her, but instead of frightened, she looked exhilarated.

"W-what is she doing?" Anders looked, wide-eyed at Nathaniel. "Is she insane? That brute on her right outweighs her by a good three stone!"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Now I _know_ your memory is gone." He nodded at the fighters, a faint smile on his face. "Just watch."

One of the Wardens got tired of waiting for her to attack and lunged forward with a yell. Hawke, however, twisted to the side, his blade sliding past her, and then somehow she wasn't there anymore. She appeared behind him; blade at his throat.

"Out!" roared the Captain. "Warden Gervais, that wasn't even five minutes by my reckoning. I'm ashamed to even look at you!"

Sheepishly, the Warden left the circle, but stayed at the side to watch. The other two Wardens—the large man and one woman—were more wary than Gervais. Hawke, however, charged forward, blades waving. The large one sidestepped, but only just and staggered to the side. The female Warden got mowed down.

"I've seen her use that before," murmured Nathaniel. "People don't expect it from a rogue fighting style—and she uses it to her advantage."

Indeed, Hawke had cleverly flipped her blades so that she held one at the ready against the large Warden who was still in the fight, and had the other pressed against the fallen Warden's neck.

"This is just painful," muttered the Captain. "Up and out, Moira," he called and the fallen Warden trudged off to the side.

The large Warden was the last left and clearly he no longer underestimated the lithe figure now circling the sparring ring with him as he looked for openings. Hawke, however, refused to give him one. He tested her, jabbing here and there with a sword nearly as long as he was tall, but she danced out of reach.

"She makes it look easy," Anders murmured.

"I haven't even broken a sweat," Hawke said cheerfully, and waved at Nathaniel as she spotted him. "I thought all Wardens were supposed to be warriors without equal?"

The large Warden didn't fall for the taunt, but sensing that she was distracted by the sight of bystanders, he lunged, powerful sword arcing high over his head. Hawke dodged the blade, swinging up and over as gracefully as any dancer to land behind him, the point of her blades touching his back.

Nathaniel glanced at Anders. "See what I mean?"

"Wow, I... didn't know she was that good. I mean, I knew she could fight from the things she said we did…"

"She told you about the Arishok, didn't she? How she defeated the leader of the qunari armed forces in one-on-one combat?"

"Yes, well, it was a bit glossed over, that part. Plus, I didn't know what an Arishok was and I was too busy, you know, wondering what the Void was going on." Anders shook his head.

Hawke came over to where Nathaniel and Anders were watching, out of breath but positively glowing. "See something you like?" she said with a laugh. "Or did you just want a turn in the ring as well?"

"What, and let my own men see me showed up? I think not," Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest.

"Aww," she pouted. "Are you too whipped by my baby sister that you can't answer a challenge?"

Anders let out a huff of laughter. "Oh that's good! That's _really _good," he chuckled, and smacked Nathaniel on the back, but the other man only glared at him.

"And what about you, An—"

"_Frederick_," Nathaniel corrected, a smug smile on his face. Hawke snorted.

"And what about you, _Freddy_? Do you even remember how to fight? Or is that another thing you've forgotten?"

Nathaniel froze, watching Anders out of the corner of his eye.

"I've been getting in fist-fights since before you were born," he began, and put one hand on the wooden fence, making a move to hop over it, but stopped when he realized he... couldn't. So instead he just leaned in. "I've _forgotten_ more than you ever knew."

"I wouldn't," Nathaniel warned.

"What? Looks like someone needs to get the kinks out, and I'm not going to stand here and let her harp at me. That's what fishwives are for," he shot back, and then turned back to Hawke. "We're not... married, are we? Because if we are, then I'm going to feel really bad about kicking your ass. And... a little bad about the fishwife thing."

She stepped backwards away from the wooden fence. "Nope, not married. People get married in Chantries, and, well, we all know how you feel about _those_." She spun her daggers in her hands, one at a time, moving towards the center.

Anders tossed one leg over the fence and straddled the beam for a moment, looking over at Nathaniel. "I know I've never been good at this women thing, but is she really pissed off at me because I've got bloody _amnesia_?"

Nathaniel looked at Hawke and then at Anders. "I think she might be."

Anders sighed. "Why do I always pick the difficult ones?"

"Like knows like," Nathaniel replied, watching Anders swing his other leg over and land on the other side. He raised his brow at the look Anders gave him. "You... like a challenge?"

Anders snorted. "Yes. A challenge. Remind me of that part after she lays me out and breaks half the bones in my body?"

"Will do."

"You're such a giver."

"I won't get to tell you if you don't actually start fighting you know."

He sighed. "All right, all right," he dusted off his robe and turned to Hawke. "Coming _darling_!"

Anders regretted his rash rise to the challenge as he reached the center of the ring. Mages weren't the best in close-quarters combat, and she already had an advantage on top of that: she knew him; knew what his fighting style was like. Well, perhaps he'd have to show her that some old dogs could learn new tricks. He sniffed; old indeed—he was barely thirty-five. _Well,_ he supposed with a bit of black humor, _for a Warden, thirty-five is the new seventy…_

Hawke saluted him with a blade, a sly smile curving her mouth. Anders winced. He was going to pay for that fishwife comment. And the "are we married" comment, and a few others, he could tell.

Oh well. Best get it over with then.

He twirled his staff—he wasn't above some showmanship of his own—and watched her. A slight twist to those hips of hers… there! He cast a mind blast but she jumped out of range of the spell. She'd been expecting that… but so had he. Hawke muttered a curse as the edge of her feet landed into a paralyze rune, and Anders grinned. She was good and caught. He sauntered up to her, smiling broadly.

"Well, that was almost too easy." He grinned, but then he faltered. Something wasn't right. The face was off—it wasn't lively enough, almost waxy… something tickled in the back of his mind. With a whirl of his staff he turned to block the incoming blades. A shimmer in the air in his peripheral vision told him that the decoy had dissolved.

"Not bad, _Freddy_," Hawke said, her face so close he could see individual eyelashes. Sparks crackled as she pressed her blades against his staff.

"Are you… mad at me?" Anders grunted, holding her at bay, but only just. Those slender arms were deceptively strong.

"Of course not!" Hawke flipped away, gaining some room, and pulled a flask from her hip. "Why do you ask?" She threw the glass toward him.

Anders managed to cast lightning at the flask before it hit him, but the resulting explosion knocked some of the flask's materials near him. He smelled a powerful stunning agent that made him dizzy before he had the presence of mind to whip some wind around to clear it away.

"Because!" he shouted, now forced into some fancy acrobatics of his own as Hawke dove toward him blades flashing so fast he could barely see them. "You were so protective of me earlier and now you seem oddly intent upon… killing me!" He yelped, awkwardly dodging a swipe aimed at his head and cast lightning at her face. She back flipped away from the spell, landing on all fours like a cat.

"Kill you?" she pouted. "Never." Her lips turned up in a sly grin. "But maim or seriously injure…? "

She pressed forward with a renewed intensity, and Anders was forced on the defensive, calling forth all his concentration to just avoid being slashed to ribbons.

"I said I was sorry, what more do you want?" he panted, flicking his fingers. She jumped aside to avoid the bolder that rolled toward her, but as she was doing so he cast a barrier on her. She couldn't attack or be attacked—for a few moments anyhow. It earned him some breathing room at least.

Hawk drew the back of her wrist over her forehead, shining with perspiration. "I… I want Anders back," she said quietly. "I don't know who you are."

"I'm still Anders!" he protested. "I just don't… come with as many accessories this time around."

Hawke laughed and rubbed her face with her hands, smearing dirt across her nose.

"And as for not knowing me… well, that makes two of us." He looked down at his hands. "Justice or Vengeance; whatever he was he was not a demon of coercion—I still did those things. Perhaps without Justice it never would have happened—but there is something in me that did not object strongly enough to stop what happened." He looked up at her, still behind the barrier. "I don't know if I want to find out about that part of myself." A hand came down to clasp his. Hawke's fingers tightened against his own.

"You won't be alone," she said quietly. "You… don't know me, but I'm here. Nathaniel is here—reluctant though he may be—and Bethany too."

He looked down at their twined fingers, then back up at her with a slanted smile. "Does this mean we can stop trying to kill each other now?"

She laughed, and the barrier fell. "Oh no, our audience expects a show!" She gestured one blade at the small crowd that had gathered. They were apparently the worst kept secret in Vigil's Keep.

"Ah, well, I wouldn't want to disappoint them," he agreed, and cast a light frost spell on her blade, causing her to drop it when the cold burned her skin. "_En garde_!"

Later, he was so drained that he couldn't even heal his own wounds, which left him in Bethany's less-than-tender care.

"Ow."

"Stop it you big baby."

"Now I see it."

"See what?"

"You and Nathaniel. You're both... very mean," he grumped. "I hurt everywhere and not a single bit of pity. From either of you."

Nathaniel cut another slice from his apple and used the knife to slide it between his teeth. "You called her a naggy fishwife."

"But we made up! At least... I thought we did."

"So maybe she forgives you," Bethany agreed, dabbing a cut above his eyebrow with something that stung. "But you still called her naggy. Carver always did that."

"Oh, great, an ex I get to be measured up to. Splendid. Grand."

Bethany pressed her lips together and set aside the stringent solution and picked up a small plaster, pressing it along the cut. "He was our brother," she said quietly.

"Oh. Shit. Now I feel bad all over again. What... happened?"

"He was killed when we were fleeing Lothering. He and Marian always got along rather like two wolves, circling and snapping at each other's heels. He always thought he should've been head of the house when Father died, what with being the man and all, but Marian was older, and she stepped in without even consulting him. He always talked about being in her shadow."

"She does cast a rather large one, I'm getting." He winced as she rolled his fingers gently, trying to feel for breakages from when Marian had stepped on his hand. That had been a genuine accident and had ended the fight before anyone "really" got hurt.

"I don't think she means to, but she can't stand it when something needs to be done and no one volunteers because they're afraid to get hurt or be wrong. She'll even admit to being wrong sometimes, but she'll defend everything that led up to it to her last breath," Bethany smiled to herself and took his hand between hers and let a little trickle of healing magic suffuse through. Nothing was broken, but to keep the joints from swelling and causing issue, she thought it was worth doing. "Done."

Anders hopped down from the stool and flexed his fingers. "So, what now? Do I talk to her? Or is that pushing too fast?"

"I wouldn't go in there and throw yourself at her," Nathaniel suggested, and offered a slice of apple to Bethany, who plucked it off his knife and popped it in her mouth.

"Right. She'd probably knee you where it counts," she said between bites. "Just... she's a bit lost."

"Heh. Join the club."

"Hey, that's something you have in common!" Bethany brightened.

"Right. Well. Off I go. Stick around here," he gestured at the infirmary, "in case I need some healing later."

Nathaniel pulled Bethany to his knee as they watched him go down the hall. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and laid her head on the shoulder closest while he carved off the last slice and put it in his mouth, handing her the core, which she made a face at.

"That's not the man I met in the Deep Roads," Nathaniel said quietly. "I really... think it's him."

"What, you didn't believe me?" She nudged him with her own shoulder.

He chuckled. "Of course, I just had to come to it on my own, is all."

She snorted. She should've expected as much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Anders mustered his courage as he wandered the halls, eventually finding his way back to their room. But when he opened the door, she wasn't there.

"She's in the baths," a voice said behind him. Anders looked up. Alistair was exiting a door further down the hallway, a book in his hand. He raised an eyebrow. "I assume you remember where that is?"

"Yes." But he paused. Should he go talk to her while he had momentum? (And the fact that she was beautiful and naked at the moment had _nothing _to do with it.) His better sense, however, prevailed. She probably needed a moment to herself, and how was he to know that interrupting a dangerous woman's bath time wouldn't mean getting killed with a bar of soap or a pointy back scrubber?

"I'm about to head down to the mess for second breakfast, want to come?" Alistair gestured with his book, apparently seeing that Anders had decided not to hunt Marian down.

Anders brightened at the mention of food, just realizing how hungry he was. "You know, you're not a bad sort—for a templar."

"Thaaanks. And you're... well, I've never met a reformed abomination before, so I suppose you're all right."

Anders slanted a look at him. "Have you known many abominations who didn't just try to rip your head off?" They arrived in the mess where several Wardens were already sitting at various tables and eating.

"Two, actually, not counting you." Alistair nodded at few men who hailed him. They walked up to the table, laid out with a spread of half breakfast, half lunch type of foods. Both men filled their plates—Alistair actually filled two—and headed to a table a little out of the way from listening ears.

"Well," Alistair resumed thoughtfully once they had sat down, "I suppose Connor does count as a 'reformed abomination'. He lost his memory of his time possessed, just like you."

Anders took a bite of the roast beef, pouring over his memories of the Blight stories. "That was..." He frowned. "I don't remember that one."

Alistair nodded, buttering a slice of bread. "You wouldn't. Elissa—" he hesitated, "the Hero, I mean, did all she could to keep Connor's name and what really happened at Redcliffe out of the stories. She didn't want it to get out and hurt his chances for a normal future. Short story: Connor was a boy just beginning to discover his powers. His mother, the arlessa, didn't want him taken away to the Circle so she hired an apostate to teach him. This apostate just happened to be contacted by Rendon Howe and was instructed to poison Eamon for the good of Ferelden." Alistair jabbed at the green beans on his plate. "The idiot believed him, and Arl Eamon nearly died. But Connor... was contacted by a demon in the Fade who'd probably sensed his fear and his... desire to fix what was going wrong in his home."

Anders' ears caught on the word and he almost dropped his fork. "Maker's breath, this child was possessed by a _desire demon_?"

"A little louder if you please," Alistair said dryly, "I don't think they heard you in Antiva."

"Sorry. Go on."

Alistair shrugged. "Well, when we arrived in Redcliffe and sorted out what was going on, Elissa refused point-blank to kill a child—even an abomination. We found a way to enter the Fade and fought the demon there and won. When it was over, Connor had no memory of the time he'd been possessed."

Anders poked at his food thoughtfully. "I guess it's good to know I'm not a fluke then," he chuckled nervously. "In the Circle, you don't learn about what happens to mages who have been... un-possessed except for the obvious. You know... death." He looked up, saw Alistair watching him and cleared his throat. "So, um, who was this second person?"

"A Circle mage named Wynne."

"Wait, Wynne? Old lady with white hair and a sharp tongue? I knew her when I was an apprentice!" Anders grinned. "She didn't really like me, I think, since I endlessly complained about the Circle and how it was a prison, but I learned more about healing from her than even she knew." He paused. "She... was an abomination? You must be joking."

Alistair shook his head, swallowing the mashed potatoes in his mouth. "Well, I suppose she would have more in common with you, than Connor. When Uldred did... whatever he was trying to do in the Circle, Wynne nearly died engaging a powerful demon. But she told me she only survived because a spirit entered her and saved her." Alistair shook his head at the memory. "Back then I was still wary of mages and things—the Chantry training doesn't go away overnight—so I kept a pretty close eye on her. I thought for sure I'd have to be the one to kill this sweet old lady once she went crazy and tried to murder us all. But it never happened and eventually I relaxed." He looked sad for a moment. "She taught me a lot about mages, Wynne. How they're still people with life and love and dreams all their own."

"Did she die, then?"

"Not yet" Alistair sighed, looking sad. "Even she didn't think she'd last this long. But it doesn't seem to be long now. She's been ill for the past few weeks. She's weaker every time I see her. I don't think she'll last the summer."

An axe came down right where Anders's bandaged fingers had been resting a moment before. Anders yelped in surprise and turned to find himself face to face with a very red beard and a large quantity of beery breath.

"Oh great, Oghren," Anders sighed. "I suppose you want to kill me too?"

"I don' know, you gonna try and kill me? Seems you have a fondness for it."

"Not feeling the urge now, to be honest, but I think it's being tamped down by your horrendously stale breath," he said, waving his hand in front of his face, and Oghren let out a hefty laugh, slapping his hand on Anders's back and making him pitch forward, shoving the edge of the table into his still-painful ribs.

"Easy there tiger, he just got his ass kicked by a girl," Alistair offered between bites. Oghren pulled out the chair next to Anders and climbed up on it.

"A girl, eh? This girl like a manly man, does she?" he leered.

Anders frowned. "I'm sure she does, but don't you have a _wife_?"

"Heh! Nothin' wrong in lookin'!"

"Well I'm also pretty sure her and I are together, so hands off," he warned, shoveling potatoes into his mouth.

"'Pretty sure'? Sounds like an opening for ol' Oghren."

"Well, she fell in love with an abomination, so she possibly finds me a little lacking," he mused.

Oghren cocked an eyebrow. "If she's that sort, I don't know as you really want to get involved there, Sparklefingers."

Anders turned to him, and gave him a look like he wanted to just hug the dirty, drunk dwarf. "You have no idea how nice it is to hear that stupid name."

"Hey hey now, I'm a married man, and boys ain't to my likin'," he held up his hand and leaned away a little. "Though I do understand, many have fallen to the Oghren charm," he nodded sagely and burped, making Alistair turn a little green.

"I don't know how I resisted, myself," a new voice joined them, and Hawke sat next to Anders with only a cup of tea between her hands. And from where Anders was sitting, she smelled _wonderful_. He was the only man in the world who managed to alienate beautiful women on a regular basis, he was absolutely sure of it.

"This your old lady?" Oghren nodded at Hawke, who only raised her brow at him.

"Um..." Anders looked between Oghren and Hawke, clearly at an impasse. Hawke saved him the trouble by leaning over the table so she could nod at Oghren.

"I prefer to go by Hawke, actually."

"Yes, well, this is thrilling, but I'm sure we all have things to do. I can hear the paperwork on my desk calling my name," Alistair picked up his plate and pushed up from the table. "Oghren."

"Aye, I know a 'scram' when I see one," he slid off the chair and grabbed his axe, hefting it over his shoulder. "You seen Howe this morning?"

"He's around somewhere," Alistair offered, and the two of them headed out of the mess, leaving Anders and Hawke alone.

"So..." he began after several moments of silence where he pushed cold bacon around on his plate, "I'm getting a little sick of all this awkward."

"Right, me too." Hawke blew out a breath, fluttering a strand of hair hanging over her eyes. "Maker, this is hard."

Alarmed, he reached over and covered her hand with his. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you earlier? I tried to tone down the fire blasts, but I needed to go out with some kind of style..."

"No, that's not it." She spared him a smile. "I'm not hurt." She bit down on her lower lip in a way Anders found unaccountably distracting. "Do you... want me to leave?"

Anders sat back in his chair, withdrawing his hand. "What? Leave? Maker, why would I want you to leave?"

"Well, let's face it: you barely know me, you should be reasonably safe with the Wardens so, you don't really need me anymore..."

"Are you joking? I'm one badly placed comment away from having Nathaniel skewer me with an arrow. That templar fellow plays nice, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind casting a 'cleansing wave' my way the minute your back is turned." He resisted the urge to grab her hand again and settled for his patented puppy-eyes. Stern senior enchanters and pretty young apprentices alike had melted when faced with them. "Please stay."

Hawke snorted in laughter, covering her mouth with her hand.

"That usually works," Anders said pouting.

"No, no, it was glorious," she said, still laughing. "After eight years of living with you, I'm just used to it. I had to be, otherwise I would have caved every time some mangy cat came to the back door. We'd never have gotten the smell of a hundred cats out of the carpets."

"Familiarity breeds contempt," Anders sighed with mock melodrama. "I am truly defeated."

Hawke chuckled again and they sat for a moment in companionable silence.

"Eight years, you said," Anders said, glancing over at her. "Why... why did we never get married? I mean, it seems if you're going to be with someone that long, you may as well go all the way."

She shrugged. "You always had... more important things on your mind."

"More important things than a beautiful woman? Perish the thought!"

The look she gave him was one of long-suffering patience and support, and he wondered what he ever did to deserve someone who put up with him, considering, by all accounts, he was more than a bit of a bastard. "You had a revolution to run," a sad smile stretched across her face. "You had your clinic, all your patients, the underground... there wasn't... time."

He reached out to lay his hand on hers again. "I should've made time. You certainly seem to've made time for me, the least I could do was return the favor." She pulled her thumb out from beneath his hand and stroked the back of his hand, staring at the movement.

"You're so... different," she mused quietly, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile.

"Oh? How so?"

"You smile a lot more. I like it."

"I didn't even _smile_? Remind me again why you liked me?"

She grinned. "You smiled. Just... not as much. When we first knew each other, you were like this sometimes. Joking and... happy." She ducked her head and chuckled to herself.

"What?"

"I started a war with Starkhaven because I was hoping that someday we'd find a... cure, that you would be this 'old self' you talked about like he was another person. But you know, I never really prepared myself for it."

He clucked his tongue and reached over with his closer arm, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. "You started a war over me? That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me!" She started to laugh, but that soon dissolved into crying. She clutched his hand in her own, and he let her press her face into his robes. In the past he generally would either run away from crying women or diffuse the situation with jokes; the first was not an option and the second didn't seem terribly appropriate, so he just held her, laying his head on top of hers until she cried herself out.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Ooh, an apology from you this time, how novel," he teased, and she chuckled, taking her hand from his to press between them and wipe at her eyes. She smeared away the tears and sighed, just leaning into him.

"I miss you."

"I'm right here," he replied quietly.

"I just... don't know where to start. I've known you for ten years, and you have no idea who I am."

"Then tell me about yourself."

The story she told him was similar to the one he'd gotten in Highever and on their way to Amaranthine, but was different also. Then, she'd been simply trying to dump information to catch him up to speed, now, it had emotion behind it—and Anders was drawn in enough that he almost felt that he could see her walking in to the dim underground clinic where she'd been told a Grey Warden worked. See himself raise a staff, prepared to defend his position as healer of the unwanted folk of Kirkwall. She told a story of a woman, barely more than a girl, who'd tried so hard to protect the people she loved but seemed to fail at every turn: her father succumbed to disease, Carver to an ogre, Bethany to the Wardens, her mother to a madman. Yet, she wasn't broken, not by a long shot—neither was she bitter about the hardships she'd suffered.

Anders was surprised to find that he played a role in how stable she seemed to be—despite what he knew he did, despite her reluctant stories of his increasingly paranoid, manic-depressive behavior, she still spoke of their lives together—at least the early years—as what gave her strength to keep going.

"It was nice to come home to someone—especially after mother died, the house seemed so empty." Hawke played with a loose thread on the end of her shirt. "Even if you left your socks everywhere but the laundry basket."

"Me? Never!" Anders protested. "I'm a cat person—cat people are neat freaks."

Hawke snorted. "Riiiight. I surely imagined all the years of poor Orana telling me she'd found yet another sock used as a bookmark."

"That _is_ a good idea," he murmured thoughtfully. "Especially when one doesn't have a bookmark handy."

"Anders," Hawke said hesitantly, "I… don't want to rush things with you—with this; with us—before you're ready. I've checked with the Seneschal and he says there is another spare room, if you want it."

Anders blinked. This felt like a test of some sort. On one hand he was disappointed. He'd finally reached some sort of rapport with her and was eager to see where that would lead. But the other side was a little relieved—this wasn't just a casual fling with a pretty girl—this was a committed relationship he'd been a part of. He found that he didn't want to ruin it either by moving too fast, by forcing feelings he didn't know he could feel just yet. He liked her very much, certainly, but love? It was too soon to say.

"I think," he began, "that sounds like a decent plan. At least for now."

She smiled and he felt relieved. Right answer for once. She leaned forward and gently kissed his cheek. "I'm going to head out. Won't be gone long."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to run to the city to pick up some supplies and to see if any of Varric's contacts have news." She pushed back her chair. "I've also asked Alistair for any ideas he might have as to what we might do after we leave."

"Leave?" Anders felt an instant's panic. "But we just arrived."

"We're not leaving now," she soothed. "It's just a contingency plan in case the templars catch up."

"Can I go with you? Into the city, I mean."

She chewed her lower lip. "I don't know. You're more likely to be recognized here than in Highever. I don't know if we should risk it."

"Am I to just... hide out here if, until, we get found out and have to leave again?"

"It would be safer, yes."

His shoulders sagged and he mumbled something, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands, pouting.

"_Knickerweasels_? That sounds... uncomfortable."

"Yes, well, then it will describe exactly how I feel about being penned up in this place. If I can't ever leave, I might as well give myself up. At least in Aeonar... no, wait," he tilted his head to look at her, "they'll probably kill me on sight, won't they? I won't even get the chance to see the inside of Aeonar." He sighed again and she chuckled.

"You actually _want_ to see the inside of Aeonar?"

"Not at all, but what's the difference between here and there? They're both prisons."

She crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned back in her chair. "You are incredibly melodramatic."

"I'm contemplating my pitiable existence."

"Fine."

The mood change was so abrupt she startled when he shoved his chair back and beamed down at her. "Really?"

She looked up at him, bemused. "You can't go dressed like that. It just screams 'mage.'"

"You just want to see me _naked_," he waggled his eyebrows at her, and she found herself laughing again. The sound felt... foreign.

"Seen everything you have to offer," she returned, attempting to look disappointed. "Sorry."

"Damn! You know, you're making this very difficult. I'm usually much better at this and you know all my lines!"

"I suppose you'll just have to be creative," she deadpanned. "Now go put on some non-magey clothes and meet me in the courtyard." He almost skipped out of the room and she rolled her eyes and rose to find Alistair.

She was speaking with Nathaniel and Bethany in the courtyard when he found her, and she was alerted to his arrival by the way Nathaniel's lip curled.

"That is a hideous hat," he grumbled, and Bethany was contorting her face in all sorts of amusing ways to keep from bursting out in laughter. Hawke turned to look and had to bite her lip rather hard to keep from dissolving into giggles herself.

From the bottom up, he had managed to find a decent pair of boots, and some sort of maroon-dyed linen trousers, which he tucked into the boots so they flared around his shin in a sort of... swashbuckling fashion. His shirt was undyed, the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbow. He wore a satchel across his chest, resting on his hip (though Maker only knew what was in it, and she feared asking), and had let his hair down; it stuck out of the bottom of the leather cap, which was lined with sheepskin and had two flaps covering his ears. He looked like a fool.

"Well, I suppose you don't look like a mage," she managed to get out.

"It took me forever to find a pair of trousers that weren't so... restrictive! How can you stand them, Nate?" He nodded at Nathaniel, who only made a grunting noise in his chest, and Bethany gave in, dissolving into giggles.

"That is a really hideous hat," she managed to gasp out.

"Hey!" He patted his cap protectively, "I like it!"

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Come on Fred, I don't want to have to stay the night in the city if we don't have to," she nodded towards the gates and set off, hefting her pack on her back and trying desperately not to look back at him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

They made good time to the City of Amaranthine. What normally would have taken half a day's walking was considerably lessened when they hitched a ride on the back of a farmer's wagon going to the city to sell crops.

Hawke bought a couple of zucchini from the farmer's stall in thanks for the ride and tucked them in her pack.

"Zucchini?" Anders said, wrinkling his nose as they walked through the market. "What can you do with zucchini besides make awkward jokes? You can't even eat it like an apple or something."

"Zucchini's good for you," she said, with a laugh. "Besides, you don't remember my mother's zucchini bread. Cinnamon, sugar—oh it's the best thing fresh from the oven."

"You bake too?" Anders stared at her.

Hawke laughed. "No, no. I'm afraid not. I took after my father mostly—fighting and sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. Bethany took more after mother. I'm sure with the combined efforts of my pleading and your puppy-eyes, we can get her to make some for us."

"Great," Anders deadpanned. "Bread stuffed with a stringy vegetable. I can hardly wait."

Hawke grinned. "Well, I know for a fact that you love it." She captured his hand in hers and they walked around the market, replacing some of the supplies they hadn't had time to replenish since he'd fallen ill. It was nice to feel like a "normal" couple for once. Hawke had nearly forgotten what that felt like between the constant running and hiding over the past two years. She tried to tell herself not to get too comfortable, that they wouldn't be able to stay here, but it was hard when the sun was shining and the man she loved was finally free of that cursed spirit.

They approached a dwarven armorer tucked in the corner where the city's south and east walls met. Anders glanced around, his eyes falling on a dilapidated building not far from the stall.

"That's where the templar attacked the Commander after I was conscripted," he said, gesturing. "I thought my phylactery was there. But it was just a ruse. I was lucky to escape that time."

Hawke frowned, something was niggling at the back of her mind, something she should have thought of a long time ago...

"Welcome to Glassric's Fine Weapons and Arms," said the dwarf, bowing at the waist. "Please, feel free to peruse my wares. You won't find finer steel or armor anywhere else in the city."

"I'm here to pick up a special order," Hawke said. "The House Tethras shield."

The merchant's eyes widened. "Ah, of course. I'll be one moment." He ducked around the corner of his stall, rummaging in a lockbox, then returned with a wad of letters tied with twine.

"Thank you," Hawke smiled, taking the letters and putting them carefully in her pack. "Do you happen to sharpen blades here as well?"

"I do indeed, ser—"

"Hawke, we need to go," Anders hissed in her ear. She glanced around and froze. A trio of templars were working their way through the stalls further down the market. They were moving slowly, obviously looking for something, or someone. They paused to question a man with blond hair further down.

"Another time," she said hastily to the dwarf, and striving to remain calm, she and Anders walked away.

"In here," he murmured and they ducked into a door set into the wall. "It leads to the guard walk," he explained, shutting the door so only a crack remained.

"Anders, we should—"

He held a finger to her lips. "I want to hear if they're actually looking for me. If they are, we run. If not," he waggled his eyebrows, "we can tumble out of here after awhile with our clothes disheveled and our hair mussed."

"Incorrigible," she muttered with a smile, but there was still worry lurking behind her eyes.

The templars passed by not long after, and Hawke held her breath, straining to hear their conversation.

"I'm telling you, he's here somewhere in the city. Hunters know these things," said the tinny voice of what sounded like a female templar.

"Well we've seen no sight of him or even found anyone who's seen him or the woman he's traveling with," said another.

"We can't even find a consistent description of her anyway." A third voice sighed. "Let's just head back to Knight-Captain Leroux. He has the maleficar's phylactery—he can perform the ritual again."

Hawke and Anders stared at each other with dawning horror. "They have your phylactery!" she hissed. "No wonder they kept finding us—why didn't I think of before? I'm an _idiot_!"

"And this Leroux fellow must be nearby," he mused, his body taut as a bowstring and his voice attempting to think through this rationally. Last time had been a trap, and he did not want to put himself in that situation again.

"Please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

"Would that I could, but I think you're onto me," he jested softly, bumping her shoulder with his. They watched the templars getting close to them, questioning fellows as they went, and he chewed his lip in thought. "How good are you at pickpocketing?"

She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. "Pretty good, I guess. Why?"

He nodded towards the crack. "That one there is wearing his keys on the outside like a dare."

"That's because no-one _would _dare to rob a templar!"

"How do you feel about that 'tumble out like lovesick fools' thing as a ploy to bump into our fine fellows there and nick that set of keys?"

She frowned at him. "We don't even know where they're going! And they said someone recognized you!"

"We could always give it a shot," he shrugged one shoulder, watching them get closer as they moved away from questioning one of the city guard. "It's now or never, sweetcheeks."

She looked back out and sighed. "If we get caught after all this running I'll be the one who kills you, not them."

"How reassuring," he deadpanned, and before she could retort, leapt on her, shoving her out the door to collide with the templars, lips locked on hers. Taken by surprise, she fumbled, throwing out her arms as the door banged against one breastplate adorned with the flaming sword and she fell into another.

"Watch it, you fools!" The one she had banged into shoved her away, and Anders swung her across his body like a dance until she backed into the third one, the one with the keys. She spun and laid her hands on his breastplate and feigned the worst gutter accent Anders had ever heard.

"Pardon _me_ darlin' I's _quite_ sorry, y'see, but my man here is _turrble _handsy!" Anders watched her fingers lift the keys from his belt.

"Get out of my way, harlot!" Her target shoved her back at Anders, who kept his head low, bobbing in a bow and mumbling how sorry he was, they didn't mean any harm. The jingle she was unable to mask as she shoved the keys into her sleeve was lost in the sound of clinking chainmail as the templar removed himself from her grasp. Anders held fast to her shoulders and tucked his face against her neck, watching them tromp off.

"Quick, I don't know how long before they'll notice, and that was a rather memorable heist," she hissed at him.

"'Turrble handsy'?" He chided, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and slipping away.

"Well I could've said clumsy as an ox, but I was in-character." Backtracking, they looked out the front gates and could see no sign of the templars. "What now?"

"Now we ask around where the templars are hiding."

"I'm surprised they aren't staying in the Chantry."

"Oh no, when hunters are on a trail, they do not defile the House of the Maker with their blood magic."

She stopped him, laying a hand on his arm. "Stupid idea or not, we have the keys. If we can find out where they are, we can destroy your phylactery and you can be free of them."

He gave her a sad smile. "My entire life has been spent running. Even, apparently, the parts I don't remember. I don't know how to... not."

She shrugged, trying for the bright side. "Well think of it as a new experience."

He scoffed. "I think I'm about full-up on new experiences lately. How about we do something more familiar and screw with some templars? That never fails to bring a smile to my face."

"We'll need to get word to the Keep," she added. "If they think you're in Amaranthine, that's the next place they'll stop."

"Right. There should be a messenger service around here... might cost a few sovereigns though."

They headed deeper into the market, finding the messenger service easily enough. Hawke scrawled a message quickly. _Alistair,_ she wrote, _those greedy cousins we've been avoiding the past few years have shown up. They may show up at your door looking for handouts. Love, Marian_

Anders snorted, reading over her shoulder. "That's your idea of a cipher?"

"We're in a hurry, in case you didn't notice," she huffed. He pulled the parchment away and scrawled a few lines at the bottom in an undecipherable text.

"That's _real_ Grey Warden code," he said with a smirk.

Hawke rolled her eyes and dug through her coin purse for the payment. "Give this message to the Commander at Vigil's Keep or Warden Nathaniel Howe."

"And it's Grey Warden business," Anders added, narrowing his eyes at the messenger. "So be quick about it."

They watched him leave until Hawke grabbed his hand. "We still have to find out where the templars are hiding." They walked further. Hawke seemed to be looking for something, finally finding it in a shallow alley behind the Merchant's Guild board.

"Inscribe a spirit glyph, here," she said, tapping a nondescript brick on the wall.

"Why?"

"The Mages' Collective always leaves warnings for apostates when templars are on the prowl," she explained. "We got used to doing this when we were on the run."

"Handy." Anders focused his mana and wrote the swirling lines against the brick with his finger. "I'm surprised they helped us."

"They weren't happy about it at first," she admitted, "but they came around when mages innocent of any crimes started being slaughtered without cause." Her eyes darkened. "Those first few months weren't... pleasant."

The brick seemed to melt, and she stuck her hand inside the opening. "Ah..." She flipped through the various letters: the usual requests for lyrium and potions ingredients until finding the one she was looking for, marked with a bright red templar insignia.

"'_Warning to all_,'" she read aloud, "'_the templars have arrived lately in our fair city of Amaranthine. They are staying at the Crown and Lion Inn. Be advised to avoid the area and lay low until they have moved on. Maker guide you and keep you, brothers and sisters_,' and so on."

"I know that inn," Anders said, gesturing vaguely behind them. "It's across the street from the Chantry."

Hawke ran a hand through her hair. "It _would _be with our luck. We can't just walk in the front door, can we?" She put the documents back inside the hidey-hole. The brick reformed over it.

Anders grinned. "I have an idea. Last time I was here, there was a smuggler's tunnel just outside the city gates that led directly into a storeroom at the Crown and Lion. We can get in, get the phylactery, and be out of the city before any stupid templar is the wiser. And," he rubbed his hands with glee, "I have a surefire itch hex I can cast on their smallclothes."

"An 'itch hex'?" Hawke snorted with laughter. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Anders drew himself up with a sniff. "I'll have you know that showy fire blasts and lightning strikes are for amateurs. Any apprentice at the Circle will tell you that the true war is waged under the templars' noses with itch hexes and acne hexes and unfortunately-placed rash hexes." He winced at a memory. "There's the true reason I became interested in spirit healing in the first place. I didn't dare show my face to Helena looking like that."

"Helena, hmm?" Hawke raised an eyebrow, trying to school her face into a stern frown but failing.

"Oh, er, she was an apprentice in the Circle when I was, um, very young and stupid," Anders said hurriedly, eyes shifting away. "She was quite ugly, though, with many unsightly bulges."

She laughed. "Alright. Itch hexes galore. But this tunnel: what if there are smugglers who may be less than happy that their hideout has been discovered?"

Anders shrugged. "Details!" he said airily. "But we cleared out the whole operation last time. Even if they've come back, we're more than a match for a couple of thugs."

"Alright." Hawke smiled. "Let's do this."

They headed out of the city proper, into the little village that had sprung up around the city gates like some sort of fungus—close to the walls, in the shadows of the turrets.

"I think it's this one," he nodded at a boarded-up little clapboard shack with an abandoned chicken coop to the side, fencing trampled down and coop long since abandoned. He walked up and jiggled the door latch as unobtrusively as possible, but they were being watched by a man with they didn't-want-to-know-what in his beard and very few teeth. "I can't tell if he's staring or what," Anders hissed, looking over his shoulder and chuckling. She craned her head back from where she was covering his break-in attempt to see the man had tilted his head curiously.

"I think he's looking at my ass."

"It does look good in those breeches," he conceded.

"Are you going to break in or just play with the latch some more?"

"I don't see you helping," he whispered back.

"I always let Varric do that shit. I'm crap at locks."

He sighed and reached up under his hat and withdrew two hairpins, sticking one between his lips and using the other to jimmy the lock before inserting the second one and twisting his wrist, soliciting that clicking sound of a properly picked lock. "Ah-ha."

They slipped inside the shack, shutting the door behind them. "Did you really just pick that lock with _hairpins_?"

"I'm not completely without skills!"

"Yes, but you had hairpins. In your hair."

"Where would you like me to keep them? In my trousers? I can tell you, that'd probably be a bit uncomfortable."

She shrugged in agreement and looked around the room. There was no obvious exit unless they wanted to climb out the window with a spectacular view of the city wall. She stayed away from it with the strange feeling that if she were to look out, their friend the curious beggar might pop up and look back.

"Now, I think..." He moved over to a stack of crates, and started hauling, pulling, and shoving. "You going to help me or just stand there and look pretty?"

"Is that really an option?"

He huffed. "Get over here. I think I liked you better when you didn't sass me."

"Too bad," she jibbed and winked at him, moving over to help him haul the crates, revealing the trapdoor, also padlocked.

He stood up straight, scratching under his hat. "I seem to remember this one was a real bitch. I think we actually stole the key. Then again, we were going for stealth..."

"And we're not now?"

"Welllll I don't see anyone with a key, so the old freeze-it-and-bang-on-it trick may be in order."

"What a canny plan!"

"And more sass!"

It took them several minutes, because she refused to bang on it with the pommel of one of her daggers and sought out some sort of rock or something that might do the job. They found a rotted hammer, and she yanked the head off the handle and wrapped her hand in her glove to keep from nicking herself with the prying edge. When they started to chip the metal, he began to freeze and warm it, trying to weaken the metal a bit more. Finally she was able to twist the lock and break it apart, ruining it, but freeing the door.

He crouched and lifted the door as they stood, looking down into the hole. "Well, ladies first," he gestured.

"You going to at least give me some light?" She began to back down the ladder.

"Oh, right," he replied, as though she had pulled him from some deep thought, and she looked up and frowned.

"You were staring at my tits, weren't you?"

"Me? Never! I'm a perfect gentleman!"

She scowled at him and he laughed, swinging onto the ladder above her and making their way down into the tunnels.

#

Anders threw some fire into a couple of sconces on the walls to light the way. Hawke had her daggers ready for any irate smugglers, but the hallway ended at a cove that was empty.

"Huh," Anders said, glancing at the pier as they cautiously walked by, "looks like smugglers do still use this space. Look, wet footprints."

"Well, we're lucky they're gone right now," Hawke said. She looked over at Anders. "Where to?"

He led the way through another series of tunnels on the opposite side of the cove. She saw the set of his shoulders tense as they neared the end and squeezed his hand. He smiled briefly then paused, gesturing at the ladder at the end of the tunnel.

"There it is. If I remember correctly, this opened up into the back of a storage room. There are guest rooms on either side though I think only the one right across the hall would be big enough to fit all four templars. Well, assuming four is all there are," he chuckled nervously.

"I'll go first," Hawke said, edging past him. "I'm not as good with stealth as Isabela, but at least if someone's in the room, they won't know what they see. "

"I'm not letting you take all the risk for me, Marian," he started to object.

"And you'd miss out on an opportunity to check out my ass again?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Anders appeared to consider the words. "You have a point. But seriously—"

"As soon as I give the all-clear, you can come up. Now, let's find that phylactery and be done with this." She squeezed his hand again and shimmied up the ladder. Holding her breath, she tried to do as Isabela had tried to teach her—how to wrap the shadows around herself, how to blend in even when someone was looking directly at you.

Slowly, she lifted the door above her head a crack. It was still a storeroom—she could see stacks of blankets, some buckets, and a few mops in just a quick glance. No one was inside the room and the only noise she could hear was distant music playing in what must be the common room.

She ducked down to see Anders anxiously looking up at her. "Come on. It's safe."

They ascended the ladder and stood for a moment in the storeroom. Anders was shaking. She touched his arm. "Are you alright?"

"Yes… no." He took a deep breath. "I've never been this close to it before, though I've dreamed of it since the day they took my blood. I know that… in light of the things I've done, this is a pretty minor victory, but I really need one about now."

"We both do." Hawke hesitated a moment, then leaned up and brushed her lips against his. "For luck," she whispered.

"Oh, great, now my mind is _definitely _on the mission."

"Focus, Anders."

"Slave driver."

Hawke eased the door open. The room Anders had mentioned earlier was just across and to the left a little. She crept across the wood floor, pressing her ear against the door: nothing.

"Marian!" Anders hissed and jerked a thumb toward the common room over the balcony. She peered over. A templar hunter in full armor sat at a table eating a meal. She swallowed.

"Well, we know he's not in his room anymore," she whispered. "Let's do this quickly. I'll watch here. If he starts moving this way, I'll alert you."

Anders nodded and moved to the templar's door, fumbling with the keys they'd stolen. Hawke turned back to the balcony. She could just see the top of the templar's head and his back was facing her; a perfect watching position. The minutes ticked by.

"Hurry, Anders," she muttered. He wasn't coming. She spared a last look for the templar, who was drinking from a tumbler, and scurried to the room.

Anders was on his knees before a fancy lockbox. He turned when she entered, and her words of protest died on her throat.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, seeing his stricken face. He held open his hand. Laying on his palm was not one glass vial but two. One was clearly marked "Anders—maleficar." The other was marked "Marian Hawke."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, especially from those that are reading twice. It means a lot to us!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

She stared at the vial. "But... how? I'm... I'm not a mage, and they never... they never took blood from me. _How do they have my blood_?"

He tilted his head to look her in the eye. "Hey, we're taking it. Let's just get out of here, okay?" He nodded his head to get her to look at him instead of the vial. "Hey. Okay? Let's get out of here." She nodded, and he gestured towards the door. She peeked out and slipped down the hall to peek over the balcony. The templar was still engaged with his supper, and she nodded her head towards the storage closet they'd climbed out of.

As quiet as they could manage, they shut the door behind them and tip-toed down the hallway, sneaking into the closet. Anders went down the ladder first, and she followed, pulling the trapdoor shut behind them and descending back into the tunnels. Once their feet were firmly on the ground, Anders let out a hard exhale, stopping while Marian kept on, some sort of urgency driving her steps. When she realized he was not behind her anymore, she turned around to tell him to get the lead out, and saw him just standing there. She watched as he slowly slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled the two vials out, and just stood there, staring at them.

"It was too easy," he said, looking down. "We just... snuck into the room, and... _took_ them," he was absolutely awed, entirely disbelieving of such complete and fantastic _luck_. She just watched him staring, and he looked up at her, a shine in his eyes. "I have... for _so _many years, wanted nothing more than to smash this, so they could never come after me, ever again."

She reached out and clasped his hand over them. "How do we destroy them?"

"I think... I think we can just... smash them."

"Just like that?"

He nodded, and let out a bark of laughter. "I want to just step on it, right here, but I have this stupid feeling that if I do, somehow they'll be able to siphon enough from the dirt and sand to find me again."

She looked down the tunnel. "Let's go down to the docks. Smash them against the rocks in the water."

He gave her an ear to ear grin. "Okay," he nodded several times. "Okay."

They walked at no hurried pace, and he clutched her hand so tightly in his that she worried he might sprain her fingers. The other hand had an equally white-knuckled grip on the two vials. They came out into the cove, and she led them to the dock, pulling him down to sit next to her, their legs hanging just above the water line—at least, until the tide came back in.

"Give me mine," she held out her hand, and he loosened his grip, rolling it into her waiting fingers. She turned it over and over in her hand, squinting her eyes and shaking her head slightly. "I still don't get..."

"It doesn't matter. We'll destroy them and it'll be all over," he said, and she nodded. "Pop the top, we'll go on three," he suggested and she pulled the cork stopper out of the glass with a soft pop, splishing the brownish-red liquid against the sides. He reached over and toasted her vial with his own. "Bottoms up," he said with a grin, and she had to giggle as they both poured the blood into the ocean, watching it spread out in the greenish water, becoming thinner and thinner, and sinking out of sight, the red curls disappearing altogether.

Her eyes searched, and found a rock that was just peeking out of the water, revealed and hidden as the easy waves lapped against it. Pulling back her arm, she threw it, and it broke against the rock with a faint _ting_! He looked at her and grinned again, his eyes lighting up, and did the same.

"I can't believe it's gone," he stared at where his phylactery had burst against the rock.

"Hey! Who're you?"

They both turned quickly, and were greeted with six displeased and confused faces.

"Well, our luck had to run out sometime, I suppose," she quipped.

#

"I knew I should have kissed you when we got down here!" Anders shouted, ducking a swing from a pirate and casting a freeze spell on him. The frozen pirate toppled over encased in ice.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hawke shouted back, blades flashing as she fought the leader of the smuggler group, another duel wielder.

"Your first kiss brought us enough luck to get through the whole templar thing—" Anders pointed and lightning leapt from his fingertip to electrocute four of the smugglers trying to flank him. "—but it must have worn off! More kisses next time! And longer!"

"If we get a next time," Hawke grunted in reply, nearly bending over backwards to avoid a two-sword swipe meant to take her head off.

Anders hissed in pain as a blade got through his defenses—it was just a scratch, but he could feel blood running down his arm. They had to end this. One was already down from his earlier freezing spell and Hawke was minding the leader. Which left four for him. Not great odds...

He waited a split moment for the four smugglers—most of whom had multiple burns from him blasting them with fire earlier—to encircle him. Now! He cast a mind blast as powerful as he could, stunning them all into brief unconsciousness. Quickly, he downed a lyrium potion that they had just purchased earlier in the market, feeling strength return to his body. With renewed vigor he cast a wide freezing spell, encasing the four pirates in a frosty prison.

"Never mess with a mage," he said with a grin, using the stone of the cove's floor to heave a boulder into the ice-encrusted smugglers. The shattering sound of breaking ice was very satisfying.

Behind him, Hawke let out a gurgling cry. Anders whirled just in time to see the pirate leader yank his blade from her stomach and kick her to the side.

In that instant, a brief memory returned—not anything he could describe, not a single moment or an image, just a sensory feeling in his gut that his anger could take form and strike out. It rolled over him and he conjured up a fireball, lashing out his arm and throwing the pirate backwards, only vaguely cognizant of the sound of the man's back breaking as he hit the dock, whimpering in pain and unable to move.

He rushed to Hawke's side, kneeled next to her, and pulled his healing power into his palms with a deep inhalation. He carefully turned her onto her back, his hands immediately seeking how deep the tear was; what had been damaged. His eyes flicked up to her face and she was very pale, but she didn't appear to be coughing up blood—a good sign.

"What're you doing?" he asked softly, feeling for where her liver was perforated and trying to knit that before he cleaned up the mess.

"Oh just trying out some new blades," she struggled to say. "That one was a good fit."

"Well stop that," he ordered calmly, feeling that the blade missed her kidney, but only just, and now it was time to knit her intestines, which was always the worst part about gut wounds. Intestines were messy and got infected and caused problems later—he would have to be very careful. "Bet you're wishing you got that kiss, aren't you?" He smiled a little for her, trying to put down how dangerous this was, how worried he was. He really only knew her for less than a fortnight, but the idea of her dying in a pirate attack, of all things, after their amazing caper with the phylacteries, seemed... petty. Yes, that was it, it would be terribly petty of fate for her to die now.

Her body shivered in a truncated chuckle. "Who're you callin' petty?"

"Oh, heard that did you?"

"Mm."

"Stop trying to be funny, you're supposed to be very, very still." He could _see_the rent flesh merging together, the pink color returning. He sent her own body on the offensive, breaking down the potential for infection, pulling the bad blood out of the wound and letting fresh, healthy blood pump through repaired passageways.

"'M bein'... still," her words trailed off and he looked up, and he still didn't like her color.

"Hey, hey," he reached up to slap her cheek gently and she opened her eyes, blearily. "Stay awake for me, we're not quite done here." She rolled her head, nodding, and he returned to the healing, pulling the glow up from the depths to start to knit flesh closer to the entry wound so she would stop bleeding.

She was a mess when he had finished, and he had blood on his hands, utterly exhausted. He sighed and put his palms on his thighs, and she reached up weakly to twine her fingers with his.

"Thanks for that," she managed. "Can I go to sleep now?"

"I know you want to, but I need fresh bandages, and you need to be cleaned off."

"You just want me naked," she jested, and coughed, clutching her stomach and letting out a weak "ow."

He looked down at their hands and over at her, struggling to keep her eyes open. "I suppose I'm just going to have to restrain myself until you can stay awake. Mine is a performance no one sleeps through," he winked and she frowned at him.

"Stop that, laughing hurts," she whimpered, and he smiled, getting to his feet and then bending over to scoop her into his arms. He knew he couldn't carry her far, and if they were going to find another inn, as far from the Crown and Lion as possible, she would have to walk. He set her gently on her feet, and looked around for something to wrap around her like a cloak. A nearby crate had a moth-eaten wool blanket, and he thought that would do, for now, to cover the evidence of her wound. Questions in that vein would certainly have the templars knocking on their door, and with her in no condition to fight... he didn't even like to think on it.

"Can you walk?"

"Not really," she admitted, stumbling off balance when he moved his arm away from entirely supporting her.

He nodded, pressing his lips together. "Okay then. Maybe we should just shoot for getting out of here, and worry about where we'll sleep once we get topside."

"You're the boss."

"Lovely. Let's go."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

It was slow going up the ladder. Anders made her go first on the chance that if she fell he could at least be there to ensure she didn't hit the ground. She stayed put, however, and when they emerged in the dirty hovel, he made her drink one of the low-grade health potions they'd bought earlier. It was a stop gap measure with a wound like hers, but it put some color into her cheeks and her feet seemed a little steadier. Nevertheless he kept his arm around her as they edged out of the house. It wasn't quite nightfall. The sun was still setting, casting long shadows on the ground. The beggar from earlier was nowhere in sight—probably for the best. The fewer who saw them the better.

Anders glanced at the sun again. If they wanted to make it inside the city gates they needed to hurry—Hawke couldn't make a journey to Vigil's Keep in her condition. Pulling the blanket higher over her head, he tucked her under his arm again and began walking. "We have to get inside the city," he murmured. "I think I know a place we can stay, so hang on."

Hawke nodded, white-lipped.

Anders found himself praying as the approached the gate and the suspicious eyes of the city guard. _I'm probably the last person you want to hear from with what I've done, but, well, it would really be nice for a break here._

"Had a lil' too much to drink," he called out in cheerfully drunk voice, as Hawke swayed against him.

"Hurry up, you. The gate'll be closing any minute now," growled the guard and Anders breathed a sigh a relief. The man was more worried about getting home to dinner than to bother a couple of drunks.

They stumbled through the gate. Anders paused for a moment to get his bearings and continued toward the residential section of the city. Hawke sagged under his arm, and he paused to look at her. Her face was as white as a sheet and he swore under his breath. The health potion was already wearing off.

"Don't... feel so good," she murmured, leaning against him.

"Hawke... Marian, stay with me. Just a little bit further..." He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice and felt a surge of hope when he finally saw the door he'd been looking for. A light was on in the window.

He pounded on the door and grunted in alarm as Hawke's knees gave out. He scooped her up in his arms and she whimpered a little, turning to hide her face against his collarbone. "It... hurts," she whispered.

The door opened, spilling light onto the cobblestones. Anders swallowed, shifting Hawke's weight in his arm, and tried to smile for the ten-year-old boy standing in the doorway.

"Well hello. If you're who I think you are, you were just a baby when I last saw you, but... it's Patrick right?" The boy nodded just once. "Patrick, is your mother at home? I'm a... old friend of hers and your uncle Nathaniel. Please, it's very important that you get her."

A dark-haired woman with grey streaking her hair wringing her hands on a towel came to the door.

"Can I help you?" Her eyes widened as she took in the man standing on her stoop with a woman in his arms.

"I... don't know if you remember me, I'm... I'm..." he leaned in close and whispered, "_Anders_. I know your brother; I'm a Warden too."

Delilah Howe froze and told her child very calmly to go back into the house, her hand now on the door and gripping it, white-knuckled. Anders swallowed.

"Nathaniel knows I'm back, we've been staying at the Keep, but she's very sick, and... we won't make it back to the Keep tonight," he hoped his pleading face would at least keep her from calling the cursed templars—the knot in his stomach told him that might be the best he could ask for.

"Nathaniel said you are... very dangerous," she spoke with a fierce calm, her eyes fixed on him.

"I... I was. I'm... something happened. I would tell you send a missive to Nathaniel, but they're closing the gates and at the end of the day, I'm still a mage and the templars could still take me, and," he shifted Marian in his arms, making her whimper. "And her. They're looking for her too."

Delilah looked down at the partially obscured face of the woman Anders held in his arms. "Hawke. That's... that's Hawke," she said quietly.

"Yes."

She looked back up to his face, her brows furrowing as she scrutinized him. "That woman saved Nathaniel's life. I owe her my hospitality. But you... you were once a good man, Anders. You delivered my child, and I can never thank you enough for that. But if you lift one finger to my family, I will kill you if it takes my very last breath," she said firmly, and he nodded. She stepped out of the doorway, letting him into her home.

He followed Delilah to the back of the small house, and she directed him to lay Marian down the bed, which he did with minimal injured sound from his patient. "Where's Albert?"

Delilah turned back, a blanket in her arms. She gently tugged the insect-chewed wool blanket from under Marian's body, and laid the fresh one atop her, turning back to the dresser and removing items of clothing. "Albert died three winters ago," she informed him calmly. "There weren't any healers in Amaranthine," she added as an afterthought, and he cringed inwardly, pretty sure that barb was meant to be personal. He stood leaning against the wall, and Delilah began to undress her.

"Are you just going to stand there?" She looked up, trying to wrangle Marian's arm out of a sleeve. Marian was mostly unconscious and not helping at all. He startled and pushed away from the wall, and focused on being as clinical as possible.

The scar from her most recent injury was not the only one that marred her skin. Scars from burns, what looked like poison spray (probably giant spiders, he shuddered at the thought), and weaponry were all there, puckered and smooth alike, skin-colored and those that shone pink and would never change color. He helped Delilah bathe her a little, carefully avoiding too much abrasion on her new injuries and sloughing the blood off her skin with a warm cloth.

"Do you have any clean cloths that I might use as bandages?" He gestured at the jagged red line on Marian's abdomen. "My magic should have healed the worst of it, but I don't like leaving wounds like that unprotected—at least to keep infection at bay."

She left the room and returned soon with clean strips of cloth and a tin of salve. "Will this do? Nathaniel procured some for me last time he visited; said it was for scrapes and things. Little boy injuries..."

Anders brightened at the salve, sniffing it and rubbing a bit between his fingers. "Yes. Smells like... elfroot. This will be perfect." He rubbed a bit onto Marian's wound. She murmured a bit at the touch, and then he wrapped the bandages around her torso. Delilah watched this but then helped Anders get the unconscious woman into a long chemise. Delilah did the entire thing with the patience of a parent, and when she covered Marian up with a blanket and went into the kitchen, he followed.

She made them both cups of tea, and checked on her son, who had curled up on his cot by the fireplace. He watched Delilah remove the boy's shoes and pull a blanket over him, returning to the kitchen table and sitting across from him and warming her hands on her teacup.

"So. How did you end up with Hawke?"

He pressed his lips together and took a sip of his tea. "I... I helped her in Kirkwall." At Delilah's questioning eyebrow, he filled in the gaps. "The... event which made me dangerous has since... been reversed. At the price of my memory of all the events in between."

"I should like to forget those atrocities, if I were you."

"That's the problem, I can't let myself forget. Even though I don't really _know_, I know what I've been told, and I can't ever let myself forget that I... let something happen to me which pushed me to terrible acts. That urge must've always been inside me, somehow," he mused, looking into his tea in the dim light.

"Perhaps taking ownership of them is good, then. They teach you what you are capable of."

He shook his head sadly. "I don't want to think myself capable of the things I did."

"But you were," she said softly. "You are. Perhaps you are meant to know these are your capabilities so you can understand how to master yourself."

He chuckled. "Sage advice. How you and your brother ended up the way you did after all the things I've heard about your father, I will never understand."

She gave him a small smile. "We knew that it was in us to be capable of terrible things, and we made the decision to be otherwise."

He nodded slowly, looking over at Marian laying on the bed, her chest rising and falling. "Believe me, I'm not going to waste a second chance now that it's been given to me." He watched her for a few moments and then shook his head, turning back to Delilah. "I'm sorry to have barged in here like this," Anders continued, sipping his tea. "But I was truly desperate. I thought about an inn, but there might be too many awkward questions which might bring the templars down on us."

"Will she be alright?" Delilah asked, looking over through the open door of the bedroom again.

"Yes. She's very tired, though. People don't often realize what a toll healing takes on a body." He rubbed his eyes, feeling his own tiredness.

"You should turn in too," Delilah said, taking his mug. "If you are able to leave early in the morning before the templars are about, that would be best." She nodded at the room. "The bed is big enough for two."

"Oh, but I don't want to inconvenience—"

"Patrick would get scared if he woke up with a strange man in the room," Delilah reminded him, standing. "Good night."

"Good night."

Anders entered the bedroom, removing his hat, boots, and trousers before slipping under the covers next to Marian. She murmured something in her sleep, but otherwise didn't seem disturbed. He snuggled down under the blanket, exhaustion creeping over his limbs. Before he let sleep take him, however, he stretched out his hand to Marian's stomach, his fingers touching the bandages. Senses extended, he could tell that it was healing nicely, no infection or other difficulty that he could detect. He would have to check on it again tomorrow, but for now all was well.

#

Anders woke at a light tapping at the door the next morning. Delilah poked her head in. "Are you two getting up?"

"Yeah," he said through a yawn. "Give us a moment."

She nodded and closed the door. Anders rubbed his eyes with a free hand. The other was trapped underneath Marian and possibly asleep. She was drooling slightly on that arm, but she had never looked so beautiful. He felt her forehead. No temperature and her color was good. He reached down to the wound, ready to inspect it again after a good night's rest. The wound seemed almost completely healed. He breathed a little easier.

Marian stirred at his touch, yawning. She blinked sleepily and stretched like a cat.

"Good morning," Anders said with a smile.

She froze with surprise, then smiled, propping herself up on an elbow. "Good morning yourself." She frowned in thought. "What... happened? I remember the pirates," she winced, hand going to her stomach, "and getting stabbed, but it's a bit fuzzy after that."

"Oh you, know," Anders folded an arm behind his head. "Just the usual. Marian Hawke collapses, gets rescued by a dashing mage, and we narrowly avoid the templars. Can't take you anywhere," he smirked.

"Me!" Marian's voice rose an octave and she leaned over him with a scowl on her face. "You practically begged me to take you with me! I've got half a mind—" She abruptly stopped, staring down at herself. "What... am I wearing?"

Anders grinned. "Very little, and, might I add, you have a very fetching birthmark just on your—"

The expression on her face was priceless but the moment was ruined when a voice outside the door yelled, "Anders, there's a little boy out here who can hear _every word you're saying_."

Marian blinked and looked around the room. "Where are we?"

"Delilah Howe's place," he said on a sigh and pulled his arm from where it was trapped under her ribs and slid his legs off the bed. "But we have to get going—she doesn't want to have to lie too much if the templars start casing the town."

"Nathaniel's sister?"

"Mm," he reached for his trousers. "Used to play cards with her husband, he was a merchant. Always gave us good prices and the best of his stock." He lowered his voice, flicking his eyes over at the door. "He passed on a few winters ago, so I guess it's just her and the nugget. I didn't want to impose, but with you injured, I didn't have a lot of choices," he stood, buttoning up and then sat back down, grabbing his boots.

She leaned over the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder, and he twisted to look towards her.

"Does it hurt too badly?"

"No."

"Think you can walk?"

She nodded and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek. "Thank you."

"What? I save your life and that's all I get? Miserly, that's what you are."

She chuckled and reached for her own trousers. "Didn't she say there's a child within earshot? You should be ashamed of yourself."

He considered this for a moment. "Nope, not."

She struggled trying to dress without just whipping off the nightgown, and eventually wriggled into her breast band, tucking and tying the material so it wouldn't come loose. She peeled off the nightgown and then reached for her shirt.

"Oh, well, I probably shouldn't wear this if we're trying to avoid detection," she shook it in his direction, brown with dried blood and a giant hole in the middle where he'd torn it a little to get at her wound.

"Maybe Delilah can loan you something."

Anders left the room, and she could hear him talking in a low voice with the woman. She looked down and started to prod at the seam of her injury. It was pink and healing well, and she didn't feel too poorly, though her stomach rumbled as she prodded at it.

Anders came back in and gestured at the chemise she had discarded. "I think you're just going to have to tuck that in a little artistically, unless you want to borrow one of her dresses."

She bit her lip. "Yeah, that's not going to work for me. I'm not ready to go _that_ undercover yet," she grabbed the chemise and pulled it back on, unbuttoning her breeks to stuff the fabric in as much as she could. Buttoning them back up, the chemise still ballooned out at the waist; she looked down at the fabric, her lip curled in displeasure. "I look fat."

"You know, that's not a bad idea."

Her head snapped up. "What? Being _fat_? See what you think when we're running from templars and I have to huff and puff to keep up!"

"No," he mused, folding one arm and putting his hand to his jaw. "We make you look pregnant, that could work for us. If anyone suspected us yesterday, we were two folks in tunics and trousers. But if we put you in a dress," she let out a disagreeable huff at that, "and shoved your clothes in your smalls, give you a bit of a bulge..."

"If I have to wear the dress, you have to get rid of that stupid hat."

He frowned. "I'll be too recognizable, they're looking for a blond. Unless..."

"Oh Maker, unless what?"

"If Delilah has some henna, I could make my hair darker," he examined a lock of his hair. "Brownish red, I think, depending on how it takes." She looked slightly horrified at the idea and he chuckled. "Don't worry, it'll wash out in a few days. Girls in the tower were always using it. They grew the plants in the greenhouse."

"Where were all these big ideas when we've been trying to hide before?"

"What, and you never thought of them either?"

She sighed, and yanked the chemise out of her trousers. "Point. Get me the damned dress."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Anders ducked out of the room to seek out the dye while Marian struggled with the buttons on the dress. It had been about two and a half years since she last wore a dress, she mused, wiggling her hips to get the material in the right place. Not since Aveline's wedding. She felt a small smile curve her mouth at the thought of Aveline and Donnic. She hoped they were okay. Her eyes darted toward her pack on the floor. Perhaps Varric would have news of them.

She wadded up her ruined shirt and breeches and grabbed Anders's hat for good measure. Stuffing the clothes underneath the dress took a bit of work, but once she pulled the skirt down, it didn't feel too bad. A little tight, perhaps, but the point was to show off a baby bump.

Anders returned. "Delilah's prepping the dye right now. It'll take awhile to set, but she said we can eat breakfast while it's soaking into my hair. We still have an hour or so before the sun is officially up."

Marian nodded. Patting her newly "pregnant" belly, she grinned, "How do I look?"

He glanced down at her dress. "Not too shabby, though our child looks a bit on the lumpy side."

Marian huffed. "Well unless you can conjure a real child like you do lightning bolts, this will have to do."

Anders waggled his eyebrows. "Well I _could_ help conjure a child, but you would have to be willing and it might take a few minutes. Sadly, as you pointed out, we don't have time right now."

"One of these days…" Marian shook her head.

"You will actually fall for one of my lines," Anders finished with a grin. "Turn around so I can button you up. I won't have my pregnant wife walking about indecent."

"Married now, are we?" Marian turned to allow him access to the buttons, holding her hair to the side.

"No child of mine is going to be born a bastard!" Anders said, sounding shocked.

Marian tried desperately to hold in her laughter when a small voice outside the room asked, "Mama, what does 'conjuring a child' mean?"

"We should leave quickly before we corrupt poor Patrick anymore," she whispered.

"Not before hair and breakfast!" Anders reminded her in a singsong voice and they emerged from the room. Patrick, swinging his feet as he munched his way through breakfast, seemed oblivious to the look his mother gave Anders.

"So," he said brightly, "where's the henna?"

"It's ready." She gestured to the back door that led to a small kitchen and laundry area. "I'll help you get it in if you like. Lucky for you, I had some of it prepared anyway. I wanted to dye a blouse. You won't have a lot of time, but it'll at least give your hair a more gingery look than straight blond."

"Good enough."

Marian sat down at the breakfast table, sprinkling sugar on her oatmeal. She nearly choked when Anders came out of the back room, a towel over his shoulders and his hair matted down flat with what looked like thick brown mud.

"_What_ is that on your head?"

"The dye!"

"It looks... you don't want me to tell you what it looks like."

Anders swiped a finger over his hair and looked at it, wrinkling his nose. He held it out in Marian's direction. "Wonder what this would look like on your face?"

Marian leaned away, holding her spoon at the ready. "Don't you dare!"

Delilah came back into the room as Anders was preparing to pounce and shook her head. "Do you want to call more attention to yourselves? Because a big orange smear across her face would really help that along."

"You're no fun," Anders pouted.

They managed to get through breakfast without further issue and helped Delilah clean up the dishes. Marian went back into the bedroom to retrieve their packs while Anders rinsed his hair.

"How do I look?"

Marian turned around to see Anders at the bedroom door, grinning. His golden-blond hair was now a distinct ginger. It was such a striking difference that she stared at him a few minutes. She sighed and pushed a wet strand of his hair out of his eyes. "Promise it will wash out?" She rubbed at his skin where it had turned an unnatural orange.

"Promise."

She bent to retrieve her pack. When she turned around, Anders was holding her daggers in their sheathes.

"Oh." Marian chewed her lower lip. Those would be a problem. Not many pregnant women walked around armed to the teeth.

Delilah solved the issue by giving Anders one of Albert's old coats. Albert had been a much bulkier man than Anders, so by sliding on the daggers and putting the coat over them, no one was the wiser. Marian's fingers twitched a little, seeing the daggers on someone else, but it was no use.

"Maker watch over you," Delilah whispered as they gathered by the front door. "Give Nathaniel my love."

"If I do that, he'd probably kill me," Anders winced. Marian rolled her eyes.

"We will. Thank you again."

Marian pressed the woman's hands in thanks and they left.

Anders drew a deep breath of the cool morning air. "Ready to return to the Keep, my dear wife?" He offered her his arm.

"More than ready, husband," she replied, taking his arm as they stepped out into the street.

"Waddle a little," he hissed.

"I am not _waddling_," she replied, smiling at him and speaking through her teeth.

"Pregnant women waddle." He nodded at a passerby, his arm linked in hers and patting her hand.

"As I'm not actually pregnant, nor am I supposed to be _that_ pregnant, I think I can get away without walking like a fool," she shot back cheerfully.

"Spoilsport."

"You know, I'm starting to get a little worried about your fondness for role-playing."

He leaned in and leered at her. "You don't even know the half of it."

She gritted her teeth and bumped him with her hip, making him laugh and stumble. He shifted the pack on his shoulder as they approached the city gates. One of the guards saw them and yelled, and they both froze, terrified they'd been caught. They both tried to make an unobtrusive wide angle in the other direction when the guard yelled again.

"Hey! Get back here!"

"You think we should make a run for it?" Anders asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"We're dead if we run _into_ the city. Let's hope they think we're someone else."

"Oh Maker, I hope so."

They could hear the guard's approach from the clink of his mail, and she turned around first, giving him a bright smile. "Something you needed, ser?" She had to bite off calling him "serah"— a habit that still caught her unawares more than she liked.

"Sorry, I had thought you were going out of the city, Madam?"

Anders raised his brows in question.

"I was shouting for that wagon there," the guard thumbed back at a wagon that apparently had once been full of produce—empty crates were piled haphazardly and there was corn silk scattered across the planks.

"For us?" Marian looked surprised.

The guard pointedly looked down at her bump and back up, and she laid a hand on it protectively, as she'd seen other women do. "Woman in your condition shouldn't be walkin' overmuch. My wife says that sort of thing brings on the pains, which is fine and dandy if you're 'bout to pop, but I can remember her whingin' quite a lot 'bout her feet when she was in your way."

"Oh! Of course!" She brightened. "They'll give us a lift?"

"Sure," the guard nodded, and gestured for them to walk back with him to the wagon. "Where abouts you folks headed?"

"Vigil's Keep," Anders supplied. "Wife's got a sister cooks out there."

The guard eyed the two of them. "Them Wardens is nice enough, I suppose, but they get up to some very strange stuff. My brother and his wife's cousin worked with those dwarven masons few years back—said the Wardens drink blood and sacrifice virgins on the full moon to keep the darkspawn away."

Anders had to clench his jaw to keep from laughing. "Well, we need the work, so..."

"Aye, I hear ya. Gotta take it while ya can. Lots of folk is moving south, 'cos they're figurin' either the demons is comin' 'cross the Waking Sea 'r the Divine is gonna march from Orlais. Gwaren is lookin' mighty nice right about now."

The young boy sitting with whom they assumed was his father knelt on the bench and looked over at them, and the guard took the hint and smacked the planks. "Well, there ya go. Ollie probably won't take you all the way out to the Keep, but he'll take you far 'nough anyhow. Good luck with that little one, Missus."

Marian nodded and Anders tossed the pack on the wagon and grabbed her by the hips, hoisting her up and then hopping up himself. "Much obliged ser," he nodded at the guard, who couldn't've looked more pleased with himself and his good deed. The driver (apparently Ollie) clucked his tongue at his mules, and they began their rickety ride back to the Keep.

"Where," Anders said leaning back on his hands as they left the city behind, "were these handy farmers and their wagons when I was a fresh and innocent Grey Warden traipsing all over the arling for the betterment of mankind?"

"You? Innocent?" Marian bumped her shoulder into his. "I find that hard to imagine."

"You wound me, madam." Anders put a hand to his chest in mock injury.

Marian grinned, and rubbed at her padded belly. "Well, I'm glad they're around now. I feel alright, but the Keep's a long way for someone recovering from a stabbing."

Concerned, Anders leaned over, hand pressing against the strained fabric. All was still well, but she was right; it wasn't good to over-strain newly healed wounds, especially one like that.

"Feel the mite kickin', do ye?" said the farmer behind them with a knowing chuckle. "Best thing in the world. First one, lad?" he directed this at Anders who coughed to hide a laugh.

"Yes, ser. First of many, I hope." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Marian covered her mouth with her hand to hide her grin.

The farmer chuckled. "Aye, well, we'll see what your missus has to say about that when her time comes. Mine fair ripped my arm out. Still, nothing like holding a brand new life—my boy here squalled like a lamb when he were born. Hasn't stopped, matter o' fact."

"Da!" the boy protested, wrinkling his nose.

"So where'd you two meet?"

Marian exchanged a look with Anders. "It's a long story…"

"It's a long ride," the farmer shrugged. "My wife likes these types of things. Says I talk too much as a rule, but she never objects when I come home with a good story to tell."

"Well," Marian faltered, "a few years ago we met in… Highever. I was, um, with my parents until I met… _my dear Freddy_ at a, um, clinic. He was helping with a child who was scared because he couldn't find his mother." Marian warmed to her story. "And we starting talking and we spent a lot of time together and… well, we've had some rough times but he's been there for me when I needed him most." Anders clasped her hand on the wagon bed next to his and raised it to her lips. Her voice faltered at the look in his eyes.

"Ah, that's the way of it," the farmer said, nodding. "Short and simple; that's how these things happen. My thanks, sers. The missus enjoys a good love story."

The farmer fell silent then, except for an occasional word with his son, and the morning passed by.

"I've been thinking." Marian glanced back over her shoulder at the farmer and his son. "About what you said regarding the templars earlier," she said in a lowered voice.

"Oh? Which part?"

"You said something about them practicing blood magic—what did you mean? Templars aren't… mages are they?"

Anders snorted. "No, they aren't. The Chantry condemns all blood magic—with good reason—but there are a few, shall we say, _gray_ areas that they'd rather close their eyes to and pretend they didn't know about. Phylacteries are one of them. It _is_ a form of blood magic, however they may protest. It doesn't take a contract with a demon, certainly, but it does require the use of human blood and that alone qualifies it as blood magic."

"So… you don't have to be a mage to have a phylactery?"

Anders stroked his chin. "I've never heard about anyone else having one, but yes, in theory it should be possible. Or, I suppose I should say it is possible considering what you threw into the ocean yesterday. You should ask a templar if you're curious."

Marian folded her arms, a scowl crossing her face. "I'm going to have some questions for Alistair when we get back."

A few moments later, the wagon pulled to a stop. Anders looked over the edge. "Well, look who's come to meet us!"

Nathaniel and Bethany came trotting up the side of the road. Bethany looked worried, Nathaniel looked… well, as he usually did when seeing Anders: grumpy.

"Friends o' yours?" asked the farmer.

"Yes. We can make it from here. Thank you, ser," Marian said, giving her brightest smile. The farmer beamed and tipped his hat.

"We got your message," Bethany said. "You met up with templars? Are you alright…" Her eyes drifted down to Marian's lumpy belly.

Anders swore viscously. "No! Not again! Not after we just left that _blighted_ city—!"

Marian looked around. Four templars on horses were heading straight toward them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"You know, I really need to plan ahead a little better with that good-luck kissing," Anders said, and shoved his fingers into his hair, putting on a bright fake smile as the first templar held up his hand for his men to slow, shooting a suspicious look at the farmer and his mules.

"Halt. We are looking for wanted fugitives," the first helmet informed them. "A dangerous apostate who is a former Grey Warden, and his companion, the Champion of Kirkwall."

"A Champion? In Amaranthine?" The farmer tried his best to find a way to look the templar in the eye and did not succeed. "What's a Champion look like?"

The man in the winged helmet nodded to one of the men behind him, who unrolled an artist's sketch. Marian cocked her head—she supposed it looked like her, but she wondered if these men had ever actually _been_ in Kirkwall. Not that the people of Kirkwall seemed to know what she looked like either, considering the hideous statue they built. They got her hair color right, but it had been three years—she'd let it grow out and it was now long enough to swing between her shoulder blades. The smear of blood across her nose certainly made her look fearsome, but was clearly artistic license as it was the only bit of color on the drawing. And apparently there was something to be said for being part of the nobility—she was assumed to not have that bump from when she broke her nose falling down the stairs when she was seven, nor the tiny chip in her tooth she took from a dagger hilt to the face when the Red Iron met up with a Coterie cell after both were hired for the same job. If she didn't know her own face so well and that it was _supposed_ to be her, it was just different enough to be entirely misleading.

"I ain't seen her, tho' she's a right pretty one," Ollie offered. The templar showed the poster to the three Wardens and the Champion, who all scrutinized the drawing but shook their heads.

The templar rolled up the drawing and stuck it back in his saddlebag. The one in charge pointed to Nathaniel. "You. That's the Warden sigil. You will take me to the Warden-Commander."

Anders wanted to kiss Nathaniel for the way he crossed his arms over his chest and only raised a brow at the templar on the horse. "I will do no such thing. The templars are not welcome at Vigil's Keep."

"I am Knight-Captain Leroux, in the service of the Divine's Seeker Marguerite Templeton. You _will _take me to the Warden-Commander."

"The Wardens do not answer to the Divine, Knight-Captain. The Wardens answer to the First Warden in Weisshaupt. If he decides that agents of the Divine are to be permitted access to the Warden-Commander, then I will not stand in the way."

The templar leaned forward slowly on his horse, the leather creaking as he spoke slowly and firmly, as though to an errant child. "The First Warden answers to the Divine, as all of Thedas answers to the Divine. The only entities not answerable to the Divine are the Maker and Andraste _herself_. You _will take me to the Warden-Commander_."

Bethany stepped closer to Nathaniel, who wasn't done staring down the templar.

"Warden Bethany, please go back to the Keep and inform the Warden-Commander that there are some templars here to speak with him," he said, keeping his eyes on the templar.

"Yes, ser," she squeezed his arm and turned and ran. Once she was far enough away that they might not sense her magic, she cast haste on herself to reach the Keep.

"Templars are not welcome in Vigil's Keep," Nathaniel reiterated, and the captain leaned back, reseating himself more comfortably on his horse.

Marian and Anders kept shooting looks at Nathaniel, but he did not even acknowledge them, and Ollie clucked to his mules and the wagon started to trundle away. His son peeked up over the edge of the bench at them, waggling his fingers in a little wave.

"And who are you?" The Knight-Captain's helmet turned to Anders and Marian.

"Peasants," Nathaniel said with a convincing sneer. "They work at the Keep."

The Knight-Captain acknowledged and dismissed them in a single glance. "Move on ahead," he instructed. "I will search the Keep for the maleficar when we arrive."

"You will do no such thing unless the Warden-Commander permits it," Nathaniel replied, unmoved. They locked gazes for a moment, until Anders shifted, arm going around Marian.

"Uh, Warden, _ser_, my wife's _condition_ here..."

Nathaniel glanced at the bulge of Marian's belly and looked quickly away, lips twitching. "Very well. Let us go."

Marian held tight to Anders's hand, fighting the urge to look at the other templars who'd formed up behind them. Her daggers were frustratingly out of reach hidden under Anders's coat, but she prayed she wouldn't need to use them. It would be very awkward if she leapt upon Anders in the middle of the road and began tearing his clothes off. She glanced at him, but his face was hard to read. It was odd; not a few weeks back she would have been concerned that being near templars would have triggered Justice's out-of-control rampages. Now, she was simply worried that they would be discovered.

Before long, the thinning of the trees around the road announced that they'd reached Vigil's Keep. The lower-ranked templars behind them murmured at the sight of the fortress, which was impressive to someone who'd never seen it before. A guardsman at the front gate nodded coldly at the Knight-Captain. "You are permitted to go inside the courtyard, ser, but no further."

Leroux ignored the man and rode straight into the courtyard. Marian and Anders shuffled off to the side as unobtrusive as possible, feeling marginally safer once the templars weren't behind them any longer. Bethany emerged from a side door and went to stand at Nathaniel's side, whispering something in his ear.

Alistair stood at the top of the stairs leading into the inner parts of the Keep and waited calmly as the group approached. He was wearing his full Warden-Commander armor. Nodding at Nathaniel, his eyes briefly passing over Marian and Anders, Alistair turned to the Knight-Captain.

"Knight-Captain, I am told you waylaid my Wardens on the way here. That you stand here at all, within my Keep, is a testament to my courtesy, but you will explain the meaning of this intrusion."

Leroux slid off his horse, apparently sensing that intimidation by height would not work on this man. "Warden-Commander Alistair, yes? I am Knight-Captain Leroux in service to the Divine's Seeker Marguerite Templeton. I have heard of you. You were a former brother in our order, so perhaps you will understand the gravity of my search. I come to Amaranthine in search of a dangerous maleficar—a known murderer of a grand cleric—whose evil influence has caused the disruption of every Circle of Magi in Maker-fearing countries. He is traveling with a woman by name of Hawke, the so-called Champion of Kirkwall. The only reason we have not come sooner was that his phylactery never indicated that he was here. However, that has now changed." The Knight-Captain clenched his fist. "Only yesterday in the middle of our search, the very phylacteries we were using were stolen."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see what that has to do with me or my Wardens. If you want to bring up Anders's history with the Wardens, that is less than nothing. He was cast out years ago."

"The phylacteries just happen to be destroyed in an arling _known_ to have harbored this apostate in years past and you claim it is a coincidence?' The Knight-Captain's voice was incredulous. "Either you are a fool, a liar, or both."

Alistair tapped his finger against his chin, apparently deep in thought. "You know, I have an opening for you—you said your name was Leroux, yes? Well my hypothetical grumpy child is already named, but I do have an opening for the pompous ass."

A chuckle rose among the gathered Wardens watching the scene.

"I demand you let me search this keep for the apostate!" the Knight-Captain said angrily.

Alistair shook his head. "As you were already informed, ser, the Grey Wardens answer to the First Warden, not to the Divine. Should you wish to perform this search, you will have to apply to him."

"You would go against the Maker's instrument on Thedas?" the Knight-Captain's voice sounded amazed.

Alistair inclined his head. "I have a great deal of respect for Her Grace, and many of my Wardens are devout Andrastians, but the Divine has never held any authority over the Grey Wardens and I am not about to let that change."

Leroux seemed to think this over. "He is here then."

"The man you are looking for is not here, Knight-Captain, and I will not allow you to upset my servants and freeholders by thrashing around trying to search under every laundry basket for an answer I have already given."

"A man with nothing to hide has nothing to hide."

"Clever. However, the templars are not the only Order in Thedas with secrets. I am not going to risk exposing those secrets to you simply because you can't keep track of your own phylacteries."

"Warden-Commander, war is coming and you will not be exempt from it," Leroux began, trying a different angle of appeal.

"Are you threatening me, Knight-Captain?"

"Not at all. But that war could be avoided if only you would cooperate."

"I doubt my _cooperation _would be very helpful, Knight-Captain. If I were to cooperate and escort you throughout the Keep, I would have another team of tinheads on my front step in a month, maybe two, insisting that those who came before them were not given free reign, and I must still be hiding something. The Wardens will not stand by and be trampled by the templars. If the Divine wants to take it up with the First Warden, she is free to do so."

Alistair imagined that if he had removed his helmet, the way Leroux spoke, he had to be smiling. Bastard. "I need not go that far, Warden-Commander. I will simply appeal to the Grand Cleric of Ferelden."

Now it was his turn to smirk. "The Grand Cleric of Ferelden is rather fond of me, actually. The current political scheme suits her quite well, and would likely suit her much less were I to advertise my birthright. My father drove the Orlesians out of this country, Knight-Captain, and Ferelden is already less than pleased that the Divine sits in Orlais when Andraste herself was born here. I should think that a third Divine in Thedas would only upset Her Grace, so I do suggest you not tempt me."

Leroux was lost for words. "This is not over, Warden-Commander."

"No, I don't imagine it is," he replied cheerfully, watching Leroux swing himself over his horse and cluck his tongue, steering his men out of the courtyard. Alistair cupped his hands around his mouth to shout at their retreating backs. "Don't forget to tell Her Grace you lost your precious phylacteries! I'm sure that information would interest her a great deal! Perhaps I shall write to her myself!"

The large gates closed behind the retreating templars, and Alistair turned to Anders and Marian, who clutched each other looking like the perfect picture of frightened peasants.

"Well, I may just have started a war, but it's satisfying to see that the templars can still miss things that are literally under their very noses." He looked down pointedly at the lump that, in his alarm, Anders was pressing on a little too hard. He pulled his hand away with murmured 'sorry.' "Something I should know about?"

"She's not _actually _pregnant!" Anders blurted.

"Yes, we took them," Marian replied immediately after his obvious denial of her maternal state.

"'Them'? They had more than one for Anders and they were carrying them all at once? They really are idiots."

"No, one was... mine."

Alistair's face hardened. "You are telling me that the templars had a phylactery for a non-mage?" Marian and Anders nodded. "Oh I'm going to enjoy this conversation. Nothing like a worry that the templars are using blood magic to track ordinary folks."

"You're going to _blackmail_ the Divine?"

"Oh no, I'm going to write a note to a friend," Alistair replied, rubbing his hand across his mouth. "And hope that there's still some sense left in her."

"I... could really use a drink," Anders said, leaning over, hands on his knees.

"That makes two of us," Marian said. Her legs felt a little more wobbly than she cared to admit and the back of her borrowed dress was sticky with sweat. _Speaking of... _She turned to Nathaniel, standing off to the side. "Delilah sends her love. I also will need to give you a few items of clothing to return to her when you get the chance."

Nathaniel's brow furrowed. "You... visited my sister?" His eyes darted to Anders.

"You can't expect phylactery stealing to go on without any problems, can you? We needed a place to stay rather desperately last night, and she was kind enough to let us in."

As Anders explained quickly what had transpired the night before to the other Warden, Bethany walked up to Marian and poked her fake baby belly, which was beginning to sag. "I have to admit, for a split second I actually thought I might be an auntie in a few months," she grinned.

"Yes, well, you actually need to have sex in order to get pregnant." Marian said with a laugh. She patted her sister's head. "I thought you _knew _the facts of life, little sister?"

Bethany rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you're safe. When we got that message, I was afraid... but Nathaniel said you wouldn't be stupid enough to expose yourselves to the templars." She grinned. "Guess he was wrong."

"For the record," Anders huffed, coming into the conversation, "we were perfectly stealthy thieves!"

"Except for when we barged out of that door and fell all over the templars to steal the keys to the lockbox," Marian pointed out.

"Hey, it worked didn't it?"

Marian tried not to smile and failed. "Don't forget to wash your hair out," she said instead with a ghost of a pout.

"Henna's a bit, um, permanent," he said, grinning sheepishly.

"What do you mean 'permanent'?""

"Well, it's a dye," he said defensively. "Dyes are meant to last. It'll wash out eventually, but it'll take awhile." He turned on his puppy eyes again. "Don't be mad. Please?"

Bethany snickered behind her hands. Marian sighed. "I'm not mad." She scratched at the neck of her dress. "Maker, I can't wait to get out of this dress!" She walked toward door leading to inside the Keep, fingers already fiddling with the top button on her back. "Come get me when the drinking starts!"

Anders scurried up behind her. "Need some help getting out of that dress?"

She snorted and walked into their room—which would be her room if they'd stayed long enough for someone to actually find him his own bed to sleep in. As it was, the bed had been made and his and her packs were neatly stacked under the windowsill on top of a trunk.

"You never give up, do you?"

"Ha! If I did, I'd never accomplish a damn thing!"

"Well, that much remains the same," she muttered and lifted her hair out of the way of the buttons, waiting.

His fingers were nimble, flicking the buttons apart down to the small of her back, where they stopped. The chemise she wore underneath covered any skin that might've been exposed by the dress parting under his hands. He only hesitated a moment before slipping his hands around her, dislodging the lump of clothing. He took a chance and pressed his lips against the side of her neck.

"Anders," her voice was a warning, but not a firm one.

"What?" he whispered, tugging the clothing out and kissing the other side of her neck.

She shivered and moved away from him, clutching the dress to her waist. "I want to. I really do. But what happens afterwards?"

"Well," he shrugged a shoulder, "I've always been fairly dependable for repeat performances."

She sighed, but it was at least with a smile she couldn't hide. "After _that_."

"I don't know. Do you always need to plan it out?"

"Right now? Now I do. There's too much going on for me not to." She seemed to plead with him with her gaze, and he hated to admit she was right in any measure, but perhaps now was not the time. He closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands and kissed her before she had a chance to object to that too. She stiffened and resisted at first, but persistence was a virtue where he was concerned.

"Kiss me, Marian," he said against her lips, and felt her hands on his waist as she gave in and opened beneath him, letting him taste her.

She had missed him. _So much. _He kissed her like he used to—like he enjoyed it, but without the hard edge of desperation like it would be the last time. He kissed her like a man who was comfortable, who had all the time in the world. She had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to keep the sting of tears from betraying her. Maker knows how she would explain that one away. When he parted from her, he didn't go far, still holding her close and resting his forehead against hers.

"Needed a lot of luck, did you?" she asked quietly.

"It's been that sort of day," he murmured, and she could see his eyes were still shut and there was a smile on his face. Her own mouth mimicked it without sparing her a thought.

"I need to get undressed."

He opened his eyes at that, grinning. "I can support that idea."

She pushed him away and clutched the dress to her chest. "I want to put trousers back on and go downstairs and get _drunk_," she said, laughing.

He looked down and plucked at his tunic. "Well if you want to get drunk, we'll have to make sure you get some of Oghren's special brew."

"What's so special about it?"

He laughed. "You don't want to ask. Believe me."

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><p>AN: we have FANART of this last bit by the incredibly talented The Silver Feathered Raven. Yay! Go to her deviantArt page (minus the spaces) to see: h t t p : / / b i t . l y / i J 1 y d 2


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: A bit of a fluff/transition chapter, but also contains a bit of an explanation for Nathaniel and Bethany for those of you wondering about them. Also, for people reading this the second time around, there's a new scene!

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

In his rooms, Alistair unbuckled his armor with quick, angry motions. As a templar, he'd understood the need for phylacteries, and even approved of them to some extent. It hadn't been until he'd met and become friends with several mages that he realized the other side of things: how easily the phylacteries were used to abuse the power templars had over their charges. Alistair hadn't been in Amaranthine when the templar hunting Anders had tried to capture or kill him even though he was already a Warden, but Nathaniel and Oghren had both verified the story. As a former templar, it was shocking behavior: Anders hadn't been proven to be a maleficar—he'd only run away a few times. At the most, he should have been captured and returned to the Circle, but that option had become null and void the moment Anders became a Grey Warden. Alistair had meant what he'd spouted off to Leroux—the templars had no authority over the Wardens and he wasn't about to let them start now.

Alistair sighed. Things had been simpler when Anders had simply been an abomination on the run. Before Anders and Marian had shown up at the Keep... well, if he was honest, Alistair probably wouldn't have cheerfully pointed Leroux in their direction—he was fond of Marian, even with her questionable choices. Now, however, Anders was floating in this moral gray area of "yes he did it" and "but he may have been overly influenced by a demon."

And now this: using the blood of a non-mage—one of his friends? He set the armor on its stand and ran a hand through his hair. The Grand Cleric of Ferelden would never approve of such methods, he was absolutely certain. The very idea brought up a whole host of unpleasant precedents. He pulled on a clean tunic over the undershirt he wore beneath his armor and sat down at his desk.

Shuffling around, he pulled a few squares of parchment and loaded a quill with ink.

_Dear Leliana..._

#

When he'd finished his letter and handed it to one of the servants, he went down to the mess where, by the sound of things, Oghren's Special Brew had already been making the rounds.

Alistair would never understand the dwarf. He would drink swill from his hip flask that tasted like bronto piss, yet he was in fact a very able brewer, as Wynne had often attested during the Blight. Part of the "special" in Oghren's Special Brew was that it contained far more alcohol than it actually tasted like, making the imbiber drunk in half the time.

"Ah, I see Marian's had a few of Oghren's special already," Alistair said with a grin, pulling up a chair between Nathaniel and Anders. Marian was standing at the head of the table, leading them all in a rousing drinking song... except it was all in a foreign language that no one else appeared to know. But the gathered Wardens were having too much fun to complain and sang along anyway, with made up lines of dubious sense and morality.

Anders was squinting at Hawke and making a fair attempt to sing along. "I have no idea what she's saying, but it must be good!" He was bright-eyed and cheerful—though not yet drunk.

"I think it's Arcanum," Alistair said, listening to a few lines. "Huh. Wonder where she learned that?" He avoided Oghren's special and went for the straight ale, licking the froth from his lip.

"So what now, fearless leader?" Anders asked, his eyes still on Marian.

"Now?" Alistair slurped at his ale again. "Now we wait and possibly make the upper reaches of the tunnels a little more habitable in case you have to hide there."

Anders made a face.

"Just kidding. Maybe." Alistair shrugged. "I wrote to my friend. For now, we have a drink. Tomorrow we can worry anew."

#

The next morning Marian greeted the day much less excited about her intoxication than she had been before and during. The sun peeked through the window, and she let out a long-suffering groan and tugged at the bed sheet, disturbing her bed mate who only grumbled. She pulled the sheet over her face and squinted her eyes shut. So much for separation of sleeping arrangements, since once again she found herself sharing with him. She was actually quite proud of herself, because she had no memory whatsoever of mauling him (which she had definitely thought about doing once or twice, she did remember that much), so it was possible that he had just come to her bed because it was familiar; no ulterior motives implied.

She smacked her lips together, frowning and squinting her eyes shut at the absolutely horrific taste in her mouth. She really didn't want to know what was so special about the Special Brew. The inside of her mouth tasted like... she didn't even know what. Darktown. The inside of her mouth tasted like the air in Darktown smelled. Disgusting didn't even cover it. She was still thinking about what composed the disgusting smells in Darktown and the likelihood that any of the ingredients were in the alcohol she ingested when a hand slid across her stomach. Skin to skin. She looked down in the dim light blocked by the sheet and saw she was clad in her breast band and smalls. And that was it.

She tugged the sheet off her face, sobering up a little, and lifted the hand off her, trying to return it to its owner. However, the man in question was face down in his pillow (she wondered how he breathed like that), and she couldn't move his arm unless he was double-jointed or she wanted to break something. She was pretty sure he wasn't, and she didn't really want to break him. In her hungover state, her mother's "you break it, you buy it" sing-song warning echoed in her head and made her giggle a little. Hand still hanging in midair as she tried to figure out what to do next, Anders snuggled closer and chose to nuzzle his face into her ribs, which tickled and made her drop his hand with a pained giggle—moving around so much made her head hurt. She edged away from his cuddling and shoved at his shoulder.

"Anders," she hissed, and prodded again, this time a little harder. "_Anders_."

"Jus'... gimmeaminnit," he mumbled, rubbing his face into the sheet and finding it less fluffy than he desired. He opened one eye and looked up at her blearily.

"Why are you in bed with me? Again."

He frowned and turned over, pulling the pillow into his face again, obscuring his words. "'mstuffishere," he mumbled, and she sighed. Maker, but she was tired. She turned her face towards the window, trying to ascertain the time, and it was light out, but she couldn't see the sun from her window, which she considered enough justification to put off any serious conversation until she felt less like boiled darkspawn.

When she woke again, still with a headache, but feeling a bit better, she was alone in bed. She dressed and found her way downstairs, where the others were apparently already on their second breakfasts. She slumped onto the bench next to Anders and laid her head on his shoulder and made a whimpering noise.

"Fix me," she pleaded, and he chuckled, using his opposite hand to lay it on her forehead, lightening her sticky-brain feeling.

"Get something in your stomach, you'll feel better," he instructed, kissing her hair, and then nudging her with his shoulder to make her get up. From across the table, Bethany raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't look at me like that," he said, using a chunk of toast to smear in his eggs.

"I thought you two weren't sleeping together."

"We are, but only in the strictest sense of the word. I sleep and she sleeps. Apparently anything more fun is _verboten_." He made a slice across his neck.

"Well she did sort of put her entire life into your revolution," Bethany said carefully. "She's a little off-balance and complicating it by… I just don't think she needs that right now."

He frowned. "Why is sex more complicated now than it would've been when I was a revolutionary? I rather thought the revolution would be the complicated part."

Marian sat down next to him, and he regretted his harsh tone. "We weren't really having a whole lot of sex," she admitted candidly, though there was a definite edge to her tone, and he knew he was treading dangerous waters.

"That's a terrifying thought."

"Yes, well, Justice thought I was a distraction. When I was useful, I was welcome, but when all I wanted was some comfort because my life was in shambles and I didn't know what to make of it, I was more trouble than I was worth." She stabbed her ham with such force that he startled when the fork tines scraped the plate with a high-pitched squeak.

"And... dare I ask how long this, erm, dry spell has been going on?"

She snorted, chewing. "About two years."

"I haven't had sex in _two years_?"

That actually made Marian laugh, and Nathaniel covered his mouth with his hand, not quite managing to hide the smile.

"That's the part you're worried about?" she asked.

"Yes! I'm very worried! I could be a virgin all over again!"

She grinned and flicked his plate. "Stop being so dramatic. Eat your breakfast."

"Revolutions are great and all, but this is just... I don't know how to deal with this," he muttered, and the rest of them tried not to laugh at his piteous consumption of the rest of his toast.

"At least you don't remember it," Marian said with a twist to her mouth. "Me... well, I got a lot of blade practice in."

Anders eyed her askance as if wondering exactly how much more dangerous she could be.

"Oh! I nearly forgot—" Marian stuffed a bit of toast in her mouth and left the table, returning a moment later with two long green vegetables in hand. "Zucchini!" she said beaming, and laid them in front of Bethany's breakfast plate. "Please, baby sister? Will you?

Nathaniel looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. "Will she what? Juggle them?"

Bethany laughed. "No, she wants me to make zucchini bread. It's a recipe mother picked up in Lothering."

Nathaniel looked doubtfully at the two vegetables. "Bread," he said in a flat voice. "Made with these things?"

"That's what I said!" Anders put in, his cheeks crammed full of sausage.

"Ignore them," Marian advised, sitting back down and slurping at her tea. "Once they taste it, they'll know what they've been missing."

"Marian, what's that?" Bethany gestured at the packet of parchment she'd sat beside her plate.

"News from Varric," she grinned. "Picked it up from one of his contacts in Amaranthine."

"Varric..." Anders mused, frowning. "Was that the elf with the lyrium thing?"

"Dwarf," Marian corrected, "with a thing for crossbows and tall tales." She untied the twine around the letters and scanned the first one quickly. Varric, ever cautious, didn't refer to her or Anders by name—only the nicknames he'd conjured within a week of meeting them.

"What's wrong?" Bethany asked, seeing her sister's forehead furrow into a frown.

"He says that the Seekers of the Chantry are looking for me... not just Anders." She held up the letter, reading aloud. "_Kirkwall is buzzing with the latest crazies to invade our fair city: Seekers. I don't know much about them yet but from what people are muttering about in The Hanged Man they make templars look like a charity organization. They are looking for Blondie as well, but almost like an afterthought_—_it's strange, cause up till now, his was the name on the top of the 'smite with holy fire' list. I know you've been careful, but I wouldn't yell your surname from the rooftops these days, kiddo. Just sayin'."_

Marian chewed on her lower lip a moment. "Well, that would explain the presence of my phylactery with those templars," she muttered with a shiver. She glanced up at Bethany. "You haven't had any trouble, have you?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

Bethany shook her head. "No. I should be protected as a Warden, but..." She looked troubled. Nathaniel's face hardened and he put a hand over hers.

"They will not have you: not while I draw breath."

"Well, it's not as if there's a list of every Warden's name posted in the Chantry. She should be fine as long as she doesn't throw her last name about," Marian said, trying to feel more confident than she felt.

"That can be... fixed," Nathaniel said carefully. Bethany's eyes widened.

"Are... are you...?"

"Morning everyone," Alistair said, entering the mess and the moment was broken. Chairs scraped back as Wardens stood to acknowledge their commander. "Sit down," he said with a wave, pulling out a chair beside Bethany. "Wha?" he said a moment later, mouth stuffed with biscuit. He swallowed and pouted at Marian. "What did I do this time?"

"You! You interrupted a... a moment!" she hissed.

Alistair looked blank for a moment, then scanned the faces, noticing that the two most red were Bethany and Nathaniel's. "Ah... sorry," he shrugged. "Anyway, I have a proposition for you two," he continued, pointing a fork at Marian and Anders. "How would you like to travel to Denerim and meet the nicest abomination in Thedas?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Wynne!" Alistair grinned. "I need to check in on the Grey Warden outpost in Denerim. Plus, I've written to my friend and told her to meet us there. It'll probably take a few days for the letter to reach her, so we should have plenty of time to visit and see the sights."

#

Alistair wasn't quite ready to leave for a couple hours yet, so Bethany hurried to make the zucchini bread before they left. Anders watched, bemused, as the sisters chatted in the kitchen, peeling and chopping the green vegetables until only a pile of green mush remained.

"You can't possibly think that looks good," he said doubtfully.

"If you're not going to help," Marian said in a lofty voice, edging past him with a couple of eggs in her hands, "you can wait outside."

He shrugged and turned to leave. "Okay..."

"Oh, wait, Anders," Bethany said, rinsing off her hands at the pump next to the sink. "Could you get the flour? It's on the top shelf just to your right."

Anders retrieved the wooden canister, lifting the lid idly to look inside at the powdery flour. Then he grinned, struck with a sudden idea.

Bethany and Marian were facing away from him, occupied with cracking eggs into a bowl.

"I'll just set this here, is that alright?" he said in a light voice, moving up to Marian's side.

"That's fine," she replied, not looking over.

"Then I'll wish you good luck and... good bye!" With that he reached over with a floury hand, gave Marian's backside a firm slap, and sprinted for the door.

Marian's shoulders dropped and she turned to her sister, voice flat. "He left a floury handprint on my ass, didn't he?"

Bethany leaned over. "Sure did."

"Does Nathaniel have brothers? Perhaps older than the mental age of twelve?" She began to whip the batter with a wooden spoon as Bethany shook the flour in, cup by cup.

"Not anymore. And from what I hear, I don't think he would've been your type," she wrinkled her nose.

"We're making a big mistake, you know. They're going to like this and zucchini won't be around for nearly another year."

Bethany laughed, and her sister smiled hearing it again. After so many encounters with a somber, joyless Bethany, every moment of merriment was precious.

"The things we do for love," Bethany shrugged with a grin. "Now, where's my nutmeg?"

#

"...So you didn't want to jump his bones the moment you met him?"

Bethany sighed. "This again? I really would rather not," she tried to shoot her sister a disapproving look but couldn't keep the grin off her face.

"Yes, well. You're all I've got, and I'm not staying here forever. I'm not saying I don't like him. I do. He seems to be a good man, and he clearly cares for you. I just..."

"You think everyone should have the great, epic love story you've embroiled yourself in?" She smiled and rocked the knife over the increasingly smaller pieces of zucchini.

Marian froze. "You... don't love him?"

Bethany chuckled. "Of course I do. We're just more subtle than you and Anders. I know he loves me and he knows I feel the same. Whatever affection we share is between the two of us; it's really no one else's business.

"And," she shrugged one shoulder and used the knife to scrape the vegetable shreds back into a pile, "there was the rank thing at the beginning, and I think we just... got used to keeping it to ourselves."

"The rank thing?"

"Mm. He's been the Commander's second since I met him. Fereldan Wardens may run things a little differently, but as they expanded, certain things had to change. Favoritism is just as damaging in the Wardens as it is in any other group. I was new to the Wardens and he had taken me under his wing - it was bad enough that he took me with him on most missions to force me into becoming a better combat healer, but early on, if we had been sleeping together and people found out? It would have been all about who I shared my bed with and less about my skills. I would've been worse off here than I was with Stroud."

Marian pressed her lips together and just kept stirring, even though the batter was more than ready to welcome the zucchini and be popped in the oven. "Was it... really that bad? With Stroud?"

"It was better than dying," Bethany chuckled uneasily. "I'd rather talk about Nathaniel than Stroud, to be honest," she gave her sister a tight smile, and Marian clenched her jaw, the guilt from years ago rushing back over her in a wave.

"Tell me about him, then. Tell me about Nathaniel."

Bethany scooped up the moist vegetable shavings in her hands and dumped them into the batter. "He's kind," she said softly, a smile spreading across her lips. "He's the most patient man I've ever met, and noble-born to the core. I think I had a crush on him when he rescued me from Stroud, but he was ever the gentleman, setting boundaries between us about what was proper conduct between a man and a 'lady' such as myself."

"A _lady_?" Marian's eyebrow rose.

"Mmhmm. I think I was smitten ever after. Of course, I had a bit of a crush on Alistair as well - you might say I was half in love with every man here who had a kind word for me." Marian chuckled at that. "He was always there if I had questions - giving me the sorts of answers Stroud felt weren't necessary for someone of my 'rank' within the Wardens. Looking back, I suppose he was just different, not bad, as a Commander, but he was a hard man, and when I missed home, when I missed you and Mother and Carver, Stroud had no time for my tears." She shrugged again. "I just... spent time with Nathaniel, and he was happy to spend it with me, it seemed. He rarely smiled, but he was always soft-spoken and always accommodating."

"Get to the good part. Who kissed who first?"

"Maker's breath! If I had kissed him first he might've had a stroke! I let him kiss me first, but it was the product of very careful and well-timed flirtations."

"_Bethany_!" Marian attempted to look shocked. "You _seduced _that poor man!"

Bethany hunched her shoulders and giggled like the girl she once was. "Maybe. Maybe not. He seduced me just by being so available, so easy to talk to."

"And you gave it up like a Feastday gift, didn't you?" Marian accused dryly, intending facetiousness but letting true shock settle over her as Bethany's cheeks pinked. "_Bethany_!"

"What? It's not as though he isn't attractive!"

"You said he was a gentleman!"

Bethany huffed and curtly took the bowl from her sister and started to pour the batter into bread tins. "All men are gentleman 'til you take your top off," she muttered, and Marian picked up a handful of flour and threw it at her sister.

#

Just as Marian had predicted, when the bread was just about ready and the delicious smells were wafting out of the kitchen, both Anders and Nathaniel came sniffing around. Bethany shooed them out until it was done. They cut the steaming, cinnamon-smelling bread into slices and took the loaves out to the table.

Anders made a skeptical face when Marian handed him a slice, but when he took a bite, his eyes glazed over and seconds later he was wolfing down his third piece.

"Whoa, slow down there!" Marian laughed, pulling away the pan. "Save a bit for Alistair."

"Alistair who?" Nathaniel asked thickly, licking his fingers.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Sitting on a padded bench on the wagon in what could, by two constantly running fugitives, be considered the lap of luxury, Anders stretched out and sighed contentedly. "Could I come back to the Wardens if I wanted to?" he asked out loud, and Marian just gave him the hairy eyeball.

Alistair chuckled. "It's not as though you handed in a membership card. I don't know as that would protect you, though. I might be able to get the First Warden to side with me on general 'search the premises' terms, but I don't know about 'harboring a known terrorist.' He seems to like it best when the Wardens are revered from afar and not watched too closely. You would warrant a close eye by the Divine if she didn't manage to get her way."

Anders snorted. "I remember having to walk _everywhere_ and never having enough money for good armor, much less _horses_ and wagons and," he picked one up and thumped, "_pillows_."

"Well, you were lucky, you Joined shortly after the Blight—before we had a budget. Now that we're established, it's a bit of a different story." Alistair paused. "It doesn't hurt having the income of an arling either."

"Huh. Nobility is good for something then."

"You're telling _me_," he chuckled, and then seemed to get a faraway look in his eye, and was quiet. Anders frowned and found a new seat further down the wagon, next to Marian who was leaning on her arms on the edge and watching the scenery go by.

"What did I say?" he asked quietly and nodded towards Alistair.

She gave him a tight smile. "I've seen that look before. That's the 'Elissa' look."

"The who look?"

"Hero of Ferelden."

"Ohhh right! The Prince's sister. Killed the archdemon." He nodded to himself. "So, why the look?"

"Were you hiding under a rock during the entire Blight?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Sometimes!"

She hushed her voice even more, and he had to sit quite close to hear her. "They were lovers. The way the songs tell it, she sacrificed herself to save his life. Nice for epic poetry; total shit if it's you the love of your life gives her own for."

"Is... is that how you think of us?"

She laid her head on her arms facing him. "How do you mean?"

"I know you gave up a lot to be with me. I get a better idea every day. Was it really all bad? 'Total shit'?"

She gave him an indulgent, tired smile. "It was total shit a lot of the time, yes. You really had me going with this special potion you found in a Tevinter grimoire..."

"And you believed me? Tevinter isn't exactly known for their kitties and puppies."

"Are you going to let me tell the story?"

"Fine, I'll be quiet." He made a gesture of buttoning his lips.

"You said all we had to find was sela petrae and drakestone, and you could make a potion to separate you and Justice."

"It'd separate us alright. I'd be in pieces," he frowned. "You do know sela petrae is a key ingredient in most explosives?" He raised a brow at her and she gave him a look.

"Well I know _now_."

"Oh. _Oh_."

"There it is."

"You know, I'm starting to be quite thankful I don't remember anything. Seems all I did was..." he picked at a thread on his tunic, "lie to you. A lot."

She nodded and set her chin on her arms, and then rested her cheek against them again. "I'm not some sort of romantic masochist. You were a nice guy some of the time." She smiled at the memories. "You were rubbish at cards; Diamondback, Wicked Grace, all of them. Varric used to sit next to you and tell you how to play and you'd still lose," she chuckled. "He said something about you just invited a bad deal. And when you moved in, you had several very serious conversations with Nugget about how he used to kick you in his sleep. Sometimes right out of bed."

"Nugget?"

"My mabari."

"Oh. Sorry. He... died?"

She shook her head. "No, I left him with my uncle and cousin. Couldn't very well bring him along. It'd kill me if something happened to him. Though, I do wonder why I couldn't send him here. To the Wardens. He always drove Gamlen _crazy_. Charade was the only reason Gamlen let him stay."

"Charade? That's an interesting name." He rested his arms on the edge of the wagon, mimicking her.

"She's an interesting gal."

Anders was silent for a moment. "We were too busy being stealthy. I never got to find Sorcha in the Crown and Lion."

"Another girlfriend?" her mouth lifted in a smile.

"No. Left Ser Pounce with her. She said they needed a mouser, and he was the best. Couldn't leave him here. I was half-sure Caron'd find him and kill him just for existing."

"Was he really that bad?"

"Definitely. I bet Alistair'd have some choice words to say about him too. Nathaniel told me how you and I met up with him in the Deep Roads, and he was down there because Caron read about the Architect in some Orlesian Warden records and thought he had the right idea, trying to stop the Blights for all time. I thought the thing was just another darkspawn and we should've killed him, but... I followed the rules. And now it's apparently biting us in the ass. Goody."

The wagon turned off the main road and started up a steep and winding path. Anders lifted his head and looked for Alistair. "Where're we going? Denerim's that way," he thumbed back at the road.

"Won't be much of a detour. Going to pick up some other supplies for the compound and check on someone."

The road they turned on kept climbing and climbing, becoming steep enough in some places that the occupants had to hold on to the sides of the wagon or tumble right out. Finally they emerged on more level ground to see a peaked fortress with turrets and a bridge leading off to a side watch tower. The whole place was glittering with a scattering of snow. Marian rubbed her arms.

"I would have brought a cloak if you'd told me we were going into the mountains, Alistair," she grumbled.

"We won't be here long," Alistair said, hopping out of the wagon. His booted feet crunched on the snow.

"Where is 'here'?" Anders asked, also climbing down, looking around. A few people in the courtyard had turned at their entrance and waved cheerily. "I mean, I can sense the other Wardens nearby, but…"

Alistair looked at him frowning and then the expression cleared. "That's right, I'd forgotten the Wardens didn't visit here until after I'd come back from the Anderfels. This is Soldier's Peak, headquarters of the Fereldan Wardens two-hundred years ago. It's too out of the way and too cold for us to use it as it once was, but it is a very defensible position if Vigil's Keep ever falls. It's also a good place to send Wardens for additional… training." He smirked.

What he meant by that was soon readily apparent. Inside the courtyard, through another gate past a smithy, was a practice field much like the one at the Keep. Several sparring pairs were being watched over by a dwarf with stark tattoos on her face. She barked some orders at the fighters, then turned, spying the newcomers.

"Sigrun!" Anders said happily. "So you managed to keep her from going off to the Deep Roads after all?" he directed this last to Alistair.

"Yes, but it was a narrow thing," he admitted, waving at the dwarf who walked toward them. "She needed something to keep her busy and watching over Avernus and some of our more difficult recruits seems to be doing the trick. The abandoned mining tunnels also let her feel like she's keeping her 'stone sense' or whatever it is the dwarves call it." He grinned at the dwarven woman who finally arrived. "You're looking well, Sigrun."

"And you're looking like you've been at the cheese again," she replied, poking Alistair in the ribs. "You need to stop by more often, Commander, and get in the practice ring. A little de-plumping is just what you need."

"Yes, well," Alistair cleared his throat, cheeks pink, "if I could abandon paperwork for fighting all day, I'd happily do it."

Sigrun grinned then turned to Anders. "Well."

He blinked. "Well what? Ow!" He bent over as she reached up and socked him in the gut.

"You left without saying goodbye! You never showed me your spicy shimmy dance!"

Marian's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "'Spicy shimmy dance'?"

Anders pouted, rubbing his stomach, and glanced at Marian. "Do I have to go through the whole thing with her too?"

"What whole thing?"

Alistair sighed. "Short story: Anders and Justice. Anders and Justice blow up stuff. Anders and Justice run around Thedas. Anders and Justice separate. Anders left his marbles—"

"Hey!"

"—also known as his memories of said time with Justice behind."

"So Justice is gone? He… died?" Sigrun looked genuinely distressed. She reached up again and patted Anders' stomach gently. "Poor guy. We had a real rapport too; both of us being dead and all."

Anders swatted her hands away. "He wasn't in my stomach! It's not like I was… _pregnant_ with him or anything. Besides, from what I hear, I'm better off."

"Is this a new recruit for me?" Sigrun did a slow walk around Marian, looking her up and down. "A little on the scrawny side, but nothing a healthy diet won't fix."

"Er, no, she's not for you. She's not a Warden. This is Marian," Alistair said, rubbing the back of his head. "She and Anders are, uh…"

"Betrothed? Intended? Affianced? Ooh! Putting the spicy in the shimmy?"

"Maker help me," muttered Alistair, dragging a hand down his face.

"The _reason_ we came here, Alistair?" Marian said, tapping her foot.

"Right! We stopped by for some supplies and I needed a word with Avernus about…" his gaze shifted to Marian. "Grey Wardeny things."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

There were more children around the Keep these days, and children always seemed to need healing. Whenever Nathaniel couldn't find Bethany, all he had to do was follow the sounds of Hero of Ferelden being played in the courtyard. Someone always had to be the archdemon, and the children looked suitably upset, because the archdemon wasn't supposed to cry after it was slain.

He watched Bethany shush the girl, a smile on her face. "It's all healed up, see?" The girl sniffled and the other children shoved another girl forward, clutching a wooden play sword.

"Sorry," the 'hero' said, kicking the dirt.

The 'archdemon' crawled out of Bethany's arms, nodding her acceptance, and then the lot of them ran off. He stepped out of the shadows to help her to her feet.

"Me, they're scared to death of. You, they run to with every cut and scrape."

"That's because you make that face," she replied with a grin.

"What face?"

She chuckled. "_That _face. Your serious face." She furrowed her brows, pressed her lips together in disapproval and folded her arms over her chest. "I am Nathaniel Howe, and you are up to something you shouldn't be," she mimicked, trying to duplicate his gravelly tone and utterly failing.

"I don't... always look like that, do I?"

She reached up to lay her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing over his lips and the little bit of hair under his bottom lip. "Most of the time, yes. But that's alright, I still love you." She leaned up to kiss him. "Now, I have plenty of things to do. See you at supper." She turned to leave and he grabbed her hand, making her stop and turn back, waiting.

"Are we... not going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"About... this morning."

"Did you want to?"

"Well..."

She gave him an indulgent smile. "I would never ask more of you than you're willing to give, Nathaniel. And you didn't have to offer—I can take care of myself."

"I know. But... would you want it?"

"Would I want to... what?"

He frowned. "You're being deliberately obtuse."

"I am. If you're going to ask, I'm going to make you say it. But I promise you that if you don't ask, that's not the end of us. I don't _need_ it."

He studied her, his grey eyes scanning her face. Then he sighed and, still clasping her hand, fell to one knee right in the middle of the courtyard, in front of the Maker, some guards, a few Wardens, a handful of children, and a few of the farmers. And Herren and Wade. She bit the inside of her cheek when she heard Wade cry out only to be silenced by his partner.

"Bethany Hawke."

"Yes, Nathaniel Howe?" She couldn't keep the stupid smile off her face.

"Stop that. I'm trying to do this right," he instructed and she buttoned her lips shut and let him speak. He had to take another deep breath. "We've not known each other for many years, but I have discovered that you are a capable and honorable woman; you are honest, and kind, and... Bethany Hawke, would you do me the great honor of..." he sighed and squeezed her hand, "of becoming my wife?"

"Nathaniel Howe, I would be overjoyed to do you such an honor," she replied quietly, and he stood, taking her in his arms, embracing her amidst wolf whistles and Wade's cries of joy. She never expected he'd be so... public about it; he was such a private man. But for all his careful strategy, he did have a streak of the impulsive in him, and rare though it was, it had come out in full glory this afternoon. He pulled away a little and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"What, you thought I'd say 'no'?"

"It was definitely a possibility. And I did make a rather public spectacle of it," he said, frowning at his own spontaneity.

"Shows how much you pay attention," she chided. "I've been waiting for you to make an honest woman of me for about five years now."

"_Five_ years, but we barely knew each other!"

She grinned. "I fell hard, what can I say?"

He chuckled and touched his nose to hers, nuzzling her gently.

"Oh this will be a _delight_!" Their moment was interrupted by the armorer. "Surely you'll let me do your dress, my darling?"

She laughed and leaned into Nathaniel's chest while he took up his trademark scowl.

#

"'Gray Wardeny' things, right," Marian sighed. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"It will be boring anyway, probably. Avernus is this creepy mage," Sigrun said, wrinkling her nose. "He smells like old people."

"Well he is over two-hundred years old," Alistair smirked.

Anders frowned. "Two-hundred years? You're joking right?"

Alistair shifted. "Er, no…" He glanced again at Marian, and pulled Anders a little further away. Marian caught Sigrun's eye and shrugged.

"I could sneak up on them and listen in if you want," Sigrun offered.

Marian grinned. "Thanks but no. I think there are some Grey Warden secrets I'm better off not knowing. Besides," she added with a wry twist to her mouth, "I need to stay on Alistair's good side."

She watched them talking, not trying to overhear, but it wasn't hard to catch a word or two.

"…blood magic!" Anders waved his arms in an angry fashion.

Alistair sighed, said something in a low voice that Marian couldn't catch, though she was pretty sure she heard the words "Elissa" and "Blight" and "all the help we could get."

A moment later the two men returned to where Sigrun and Marian were still standing. Anders was still frowning, but he didn't seem to be protesting any longer.

"We're going to go talk to Avernus," Alistair said, jerking his thumb back at the tower. "We won't be long."

"I'll have the Dryden boys put the supplies in the wagon, Commander," Sigrun offered. Alistair nodded and the two men headed into the fortress.

#

"I still can't believe you let him live all this time…" Anders muttered as they walked through the halls of Soldier's Peak.

Alistair sighed. "It wasn't up to me. Besides, he promised Elissa that he'd only research ethically now. He seemed honest enough—didn't try to hide what he'd done." Alistair pushed through a door, exiting onto the bridge that led to the watchtower. Anders shivered as icy mountain winds blew across the bridge.

"His last note indicated that he's had some kind of success and wanted me to see it," Alistair continued as they walked. "Or something like that. I think he gets so absorbed in his work that he forgets to explain properly to us poor, dumb plebeians. And his handwriting is atrocious. He could have been asking me to see the queen of Antiva for all I know."

"Have I met him before?"

"No, but when I first arrived from the Anderfels, I did explain his existence to you, Nathaniel, and Sigrun because I wanted a Warden stationed here to keep an eye on him. We had nearly the same quarrel then as we did down there," Alistair smirked.

"Oh. Well, you could have stopped me before I went off full steam, you know."

Alistair shrugged. "The same argument I used last time worked this time around too. I figured it was worth a shot."

"Good to know I'm predictable at least." Anders paused. "I must have left soon after?"

Alistair nodded. "That afternoon, in fact."

Alistair pushed open the door on the opposite side of the bridge. Anders hurried through, relieved to no longer feel the cold wind blowing up his robes.

"Ah, Alistair," wheezed a decrepit-looking mage from across the room. "You got my note, I see?"

"Yes, Avernus. We decided to stop by on our way to Denerim. What—"

The door they had just shut behind them opened again, and Sigrun stepped through.

"Sorry to interrupt, Commander, but I have a quick question."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "This couldn't wait—no, never mind. You wouldn't have followed me up here otherwise. " He sighed. "Just a moment, ser mage." He stepped outside into the anteroom, and Anders was left alone with Avernus.

The old mage tottered over to him, rheumy blue eyes looking him up and down. "Well I did want a young, male Warden, but another mage? Oh well." He turned back to his table and picked up a tumbler. "Here, boy, drink this."

"Riiight. As if I'd drink anything you gave me," Anders said, folding his arms across his chest.

Avernus frowned. "Stubborn youths. I spend the last of my years trying to help Grey Wardens achieve their full potential and what do I get? Back talk and suspicion."

"You summoned a horde of demons! And experimented on your brother Wardens! Not to mention whatever foul blood magic keeps you alive far past your time. If that isn't grounds for suspicion, I don't know what is."

Avernus didn't reply, swirling the contents of the tumbler in oddly smooth motions considering how unsteady his legs seemed to be. "Did you know that I wasn't even looking for a cure for Grey Warden sterility? It just happened to be a side effect of my latest research."

Anders raised a brow, determined to keep the higher ground, but the old coot certainly had a way with tempting words. He briefly considered the man could be possessed by a desire demon and curled his fingers into his palms under his arms to keep from using Bethany's trick. He was old, it might kill him, and then at least Alistair would be probably a BIT upset with him.

"What, exactly, _were_ you researching?"

"What is the taint?"

"Wait, I asked you first."

"Answer me, boy, what is the taint?"

He frowned. "Um, it makes Grey Wardens what they are—gives them the ability to fight the darkspawn. And... kills them for it... in the end."

"And if they're to be super-soldiers defending against the Blight, shouldn't they be more powerful?"

"We are more powerful! My mana replenishes faster, I have more stamina..."

"And you consume more calories to make up for it, not exactly a true advantage."

"Well the darkspawn and the Blights really aren't some fabricated evil that we're meant to just logic out and be done with. If it wasn't difficult to defeat them, we'd've wiped them out ages ago. They're _evil_."

"Thus implying their blood is evil, yes?"

"Of course! It kills us in the end! Makes us like them! It's a demon's gift - we gain the ability to fight our enemies only to become them. That's why there's not a rush on the Joining - who would do it if they knew the stakes?"

"But the darkspawn still have an advantage over us—so many Wardens die in the Joining, and the darkspawn breed greater numbers. We're constantly outnumbered."

"So, what, you're trying to figure out a way that less Wardens will die by killing other Wardens? Genius plan."

"Thank you. Like knows like," Avernus gave him a look that made his skin crawl. Dodgy old coot.

"No. I'm nothing like you."

"Think what you wish. But while the deaths at your hands seems to've only caused more trouble, I've been working on a solution to end the Blights!"

Anders scoffed. "That Architect offered the same solution and what good has it done? Talking darkspawn! I wasn't fond of it then and I'm certainly not fond of it now!"

"But what if we could discover the true power of the blood? Archdemons are Old Gods that have been corrupted—who's to say the Old Gods aren't at the mercy of the corruption themselves! If we could harness the power of the Old Gods, we could _help them _defeat the darkspawn and free them!"

"I'm sure the Chantry would be thrilled," Anders quipped dryly.

"The Hero of Ferelden was willing to take the chance. She suffered no ill-effects and that was before I perfected the solution to this degree."

"She died. Not exactly the poster-child for long-term effects."

"And what about myself?"

"What about you?"

"I've been alive for centuries. I have _proven _that the power of the blood Wardens ingest during the Joining has so much more potential!"

"You've proven that _blood magic _gives a person more power—that's not new information."

"Don't be a fool. The Joining is blood magic, you cannot pretend to be above such things when you took the Joining to save your own life." The old man started to get exasperated with him, and Anders took the hit to heart—it was true, he _had _used blood magic to save his own life. How did that make him better than anyone else?

"What do you want from me?" he asked, sullen.

"Prove me right."

"How?"

"You've seen how many Wardens there are at the Keep? And you're on the way to Denerim, you'll see even more. My experiments, the ones I've been doing since the Blight, have not involved the death of any Wardens. In fact, more have _survived _the Joining. And, excuse my crudeness, but why does it improve sexual stamina if not to produce children with the taint who are also immune to darkspawn corruption?"

"What, and have children who live thirty years and that's it? No. I won't help you do that."

"_Listen to me._ I've lived more than the arbitrary thirty years," he waved his hand like it was of no consequence. "I will wager that the Warden-Commander and all the recruits since the new Joinings will outlive it too. We _must _change; become stronger than our enemies. Alistair has told me about this Architect, and for all that I am intrigued by his research, I am not sure that the Wardens haven't just signed a treaty to give ourselves a new enemy when the Blights are over."

"On that, we agree."

"So we need to become _stronger_. We need to be immune to the touch of these creatures so that we can _defeat _them. Surely you cannot deny that?"

Anders sighed. "No. No, I cannot."

"Drink this."

He frowned, looking at the vial, and was still making faces as Avernus shook it in his face when Alistair returned.

"I'd never make you do it," Alistair said. "But I've been here, I've read about this Architect, and it makes me damned uncomfortable. And... Elissa suffered no ill effects that I saw. Besides," he chuckled uneasily, "it's not as though it's going to shorten your life any more than the last time."

"True. But what about... I mean, I'm not... jumping to conclusions but... if Marian..."

"I'd really rather you not tell Marian about all the fun parts of being a Warden."

"No, but... children with the taint..."

Alistair turned on Avernus. "_What?_ No!" He waved his hand through the air angrily. "_Absolutely not_. Elissa gave her life so that no child would be born with the taint, _I will not let you do this_!" He reached for the vial, but Avernus pulled it back, cradling it into his body, and Alistair stopped short of trying to knock it out of his hands.

"This is not the witch's ritual, Alistair. No children produced—if children are indeed possible, which is why I wanted this young man here to drink it in the first place, to see if I'm right—could be vessels for possession in that manner. I haven't quite figured it out yet, but this is not the answer. This is not her magic," the old man said carefully, and Anders kept looking between them. Alistair still had fire in his eyes.

"Are you _absolutely sure_?"

"On that, at least, yes."

"And can I trust you, old man? Sometimes your motives aren't exactly clear. You seem to be in favor of "saving" the Old Gods."

He scoffed. "And how, exactly, would we be doing them any favors by trapping them in human bodies instead of letting them take their true forms?"

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "I... that actually makes sense. Even for you." He turned to Anders. "If I were you, I'd do it, but... if Elissa were here," he got a fond, yet sad look on his face and rubbed the back of his neck, "she'd kill me if I did something like that without discussing it with her first. You think you can discuss it with Marian without giving away all our secrets?"

"Maybe?"

"Well, we aren't going anywhere for a little while. Have... a talk with her."

"Right, so how do I start that conversation?" Anders muttered to himself as he exited Avernus's tower and scurried across the windswept bridge. "'Gee, Marian, do you want to have kids? Never mind that we haven't had sex in two years, but the minute we do, we could have our very own miniature Grey Warden!' Anders, you've really outdone yourself this time…"

He heard her laughter as he entered the lower level of the fortress and peeked through the door of the kitchens to see her and Sigrun sharing a hot mug of something in front of a roaring fire. His lips twitched up in a fond smile as he watched her make a grand gesture with her hands and get up from the table, making a running motion with her hands held high as if she was fleeing for her life.

"And this spider—I'm not joking it was at _least_ the size of an wagon—comes crawling toward me—_me_! You'd think it would have gone for the short, plumpy one—Varric—but noooo, it comes after me." She rubbed her stomach with a rueful grin. "I still have the scar to prove it."

"I've seen that one," Anders quipped, leaning against the doorjamb. "The puckered and knobbly one next to your belly button, yes?"

Marian raised an eyebrow. "You do know how to make a girl feel special," she said, but she was smiling. Anders swallowed.

"Um, Marian, might I have a word…" He glanced at Sigrun who sighed.

"Right, right. I can hear a 'get lost, duster' from two leagues away. Don't worry, I have recruit heads to bang together." She jabbed a finger in Anders's face. "You owe me a game of diamondback, Shimmy."

"I don't think I'm very good at it…"

Sigrun grinned. "Why do you think I want to play it with you?" She exited the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

"What's up?" Marian asked, propping her chin up on her hands, her eyes still sparkling with good humor. Anders sat down on the bench beside her, taking her hands in his. He liked her hands: they were calloused and strong; no idle noblewoman's fingers were these.

"I… I know our relationship wasn't 'normal' by any means," he started, "but did we ever… discuss the future? I mean, things like… children?"

The humor faded from her eyes and she seemed to consider his words carefully. "We… did discuss it, once or twice. You seemed in favor of it, though always in a distant, 'it might happen in the future' kind of way. I got the feeling that Justice wasn't too keen on the idea—it was something that took your focus away from the plight of mages. I didn't press the issue, but there was also the Warden thing." She looked down at their entwined fingers. "You told me that Grey Wardens have a hard time having children."

"What if…" Anders's mouth was dry. "What if I told you that would no longer be an obstacle?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"What, you give up being a Grey Warden? Thought it was for life," she gave him a sad smile. "You know, whatever time you have left."

"Ah. Got a bit loose-lipped on that, did I?" Anders winced.

"Justice was a little bit pissed off that you wouldn't be around to help him champion the cause for eternity. You... argued with him about it."

"What? Like, talked to myself?"

She wrinkled her nose and he wanted to touch it, or kiss it, or _something_ and it was becoming more and more clear to him that some part of him _had_ to've been hiding underneath Justice; he _liked _her, felt drawn to her—and it wasn't from any sense of obligation just because she'd been his lifeline and support for the last decade. Though, he had to admit that didn't lose her any points.

"You did that rather a lot, actually."

"Creepy."

"Sometimes, yes. So... how do you give it up? I mean, if I was... well. Let's just say I'm... open to the idea." She blushed a little and did that lip chewing thing again. This woman was it for him, that's all there was to it. He was surprised it took him this long to admit that to himself.

"Well, it's actually not giving up being a Warden, but... becoming a... better one?"

She chuckled. "Better, stronger, faster?"

He laughed, his eyes crinkling, and she wanted to reach out and touch those little wrinkles. The sound of his laughter, the twinkle in his eyes, they all seemed precious before because they were so rare—now they were precious because she got to experience them so often; she wanted to bottle them up just in case she woke up and this was all a dream.

"Something like that, yes. I don't know what the long-term effects are, for me or for a child, but I suppose that since you already know I'm working on a... limited time line and you've stuck with me when I was revolutionary abomination, I have to admit, I don't know what could happen that could possibly surprise you. Except, you know, if it... works and you... you know."

She grinned and then tried to pretend severity, which didn't entirely work because he could see the smile all over her face. "Well, in order for that to happen, we would have to... _you know_."

"WELL, you know that I'm always in favor of," he grinned and waggled his eyebrows, "_you know_. In fact, the Circle was very educational in that respect. I'm sure there are little hiding places all over this place that are _perfect _for a bit of 'you know.'"

She laughed again and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before standing. "I'm not 'you knowing' with you, to you, or anything of the sort in an alcove in this creepy castle. Save it, loverboy. I'm a high-class sort of lady. I'm going to need at least a secluded bedroll."

He watched her go and knew he had a stupid grin on his face. "Exactly how secluded are we talking?"

"Very secluded!" She said as she walked away. "In fact, I might even demand a bed!"

#

"Eurgh." Anders gagged, swiping a hand across his mouth. "Tastes like something my cat once coughed up."

"I'm an alchemist, not a confectioner," Avernus huffed, taking the empty vial away. "It may take a few days for your body to adjust, but I would be grateful if you should send word of any… results. The more data I have the better."

Results. A baby. Or babies. Suddenly Anders felt a wriggling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the potion he just drank. Was he crazy? Were he and Marian just crazy together to even consider this? Bringing a child into this world—their world of being fugitives on the run likely wasn't the best idea… but as nervous as he was about the very idea of fatherhood, he knew he wanted it—with Marian. If they could find somewhere to be, to live without the constant threat of templars over their heads... Of course, Marian had been raised on the run and she'd turned out pretty well. But that was a thought for another time.

He followed Alistair out of the tower, after a few final words with Avernus, and headed back through to the main part of the fortress. Sigrun met them near the barracks and gestured them into the room. Marian was already there. She looked at Anders, who nodded in reply to her unspoken question, and a wide grin stretched across her lips. He had to forcibly look away to keep himself from leaping across the space between them and kissing her senseless. The wriggling feeling in his stomach returned.

"Alistair said you might need disguises in Denerim, so I found some extra armor we had laying around." The dwarven woman gestured at two armor stands. "We even have a couple of those Tevinter style face-guards."

"Those were popular in Kirkwall," Marian said, nodding with approval. "No one will see our faces and won't think twice about it, if we're with Alistair. Thanks, Sigrun."

"No problem." She got a wicked smile on her face. "Just remember, you owe me one, Hawke. I expect a lengthy introduction to this Varric of yours the next time you write. Remind him to pay us a visit here in lonely, cold Ferelden."

"I will." Marian laughed. "You must visit Vigil's Keep, Sigrun. I… I'm not sure how much longer we'll be there, but I'd like you to come anyway."

"Is Nathaniel still there? I should visit—I haven't teased him about being noble-born in a long time."

"Let's get going," Alistair said, glancing at the window. "We have a long way to go yet, to reach Denerim. I want to use up as much of the daylight as possible."

Marian and Anders quickly changed into the armor, folding their usual clothes into their packs.

"How do you… move in this stuff?" Anders complained, trying to twist around to reach a buckle on his shoulder. He wondered if this was how golems felt—all stiff and awkward.

"You'll get used to it," Marian laughed, coming up behind him and fixing the buckle.

Anders pouted and looked down, examining his armored torso. "And how exactly are you supposed to answer a call of nature in this get-up?"

"Carefully," Alistair said dryly. "You learn to buckle and unbuckle very fast."

"Sounds like a useful skill to have, for more than one occasion," Anders said, waggling his eyebrows at Marian.

"Behave yourself," she laughed, slapping his armored chest lightly. He barely felt it through the stiff, protective gear.

They followed Alistair to the courtyard. The wagon was loaded with crates and sacks of supplies. Sigrun waved goodbye as they climbed aboard and soon she was out of sight.

#

Alistair and the Wardens and guards that traveled with them were used to the involved process of setting up camp for a small caravan. Anders remembered well enough having to sleep rough a night or two, but it was with a much smaller group. He and Marian both watched the well-oiled machine unfold around them, a bit at a loss.

"Is there... anything we can do?"

Alistair waved them off. "We've got it. We set you up a tent over there, if you want to start unpacking."

Marian looked over her shoulder at it and felt Anders's hand on her lower back, a gentle encouragement to approach the tent. She ducked inside and set her pack down, turning to ask him which side he wanted to sleep on when he set upon her, shoving his fingers into her hair and kissing her. She knew this kiss—this was their first kiss all over again; the desperate one that spoke of passions held tightly in check only to spill over. It was hard not to get caught up in it, and she only came back to her senses when she stumbled and fell to her knees, and he tried to take it further, leaning into her so she might end up on her back.

She struggled (with herself more than anything) to put her hand on his chest and push him back. He looked down at her hand.

"Right. Still in armor. I should fix that," he said breathlessly, and began trying to find the unfamiliar buckles.

"Actually, that was more of a 'whoa boy,'" she admitted.

"Oh." He looked absolutely crestfallen, and she sat up, kneeling in front of him and starting to work at his buckles.

"We don't have to start right away, you know."

He chuckled and ran his hand into his hair, trying to keep himself out of the way so she might get him out of the armored contraption she'd strapped him into. "I think that potion that old man gave me is starting to kick in. I've been staring at your lips for the last hour."

She snorted. "Wasn't all you were staring at."

"That obvious?"

"Very. So let's change the subject. Alistair said this friend of his works with the Divine. So, much as I like the guy, I don't have a lot of faith in her being able to help us. Varric said," she unthreaded a buckle and lifted the breastplate over his head and set it aside, going to work on his fairly simple greaves, "that these Seekers are looking for me too, and it doesn't seem to be just because I aided and abetted. Plus, those tinheads that had our phylacteries were working for one of them. I admit I know pretty much nothing about the Chantry—you know what these Seekers are?"

She unlaced one of the greaves and went to work on the other. "They're agents of the Divine. Basically internal affairs for the templars. If the templars are their standard soldiers, the Seekers are their elite, their secret ninjas."

"Secret ninjas. Great."

"But, if they're looking for you and it's above and beyond your association with me, I almost wonder if they're not trying to just string you up. There may be something more here that we're missing."

"Got me there," she started to work on her own armor and he sat back, tugging off his boots. "I've never met any of them before, and I tried to stay out of Chantry business as much as possible. Where there's Chantry, there's templars, and I was under no misapprehension that one wrong move and Meredith would have me in the Gallows faster than you could blink." She smiled briefly. "I was rather fond of Elthina, but I don't know as I ever would've gotten to know her without... Sebastian."

"He's the prince, right? The one that... also wants me dead? Maker, but Justice could've helped me make a _few _more friends."

"He was always impulsive. Elthina saw that, and was always trying to get him to leave the Chantry, give up his priesthood officially instead of going on priest-hiatus every time he got the idea that he needed to right a wrong."

"Sounds like a fiesty lady."

"She really was."

"So... why? I mean, did I... ever say?"

She nodded. "She wouldn't take sides. Said if the Maker saw fit to show Meredith and Orsino reason, He would do so, and it was not up to her to do it in His name."

"Sounds like she was just avoiding the issue."

"That's what you said. You said you would talk to her, but I'm guessing your talk didn't go so well. She would admit that mages had it worse in Kirkwall, but she thought everything was a little bit worse in Kirkwall. She wasn't wrong. In the end, the Chantry would always have to side with the templars, and I don't know how Chantry hierarchy goes, Meredith did always seem to defer to her, but I wonder if she didn't want to give Meredith more power, more justification, if she gave her open support. And who knows what would've happened if she openly supported mages; she might've died a quieter death in her sleep. But you couldn't stand that the religious leader of the city wouldn't take sides."

"I've always been more of a 'do what thou wilst' sort of person. But she did have a responsibility to her people to protect them, all of them. Even the mages."

Marian nodded. "So did Meredith. And that didn't turn out the way it should've either."

#

Bethany hummed to herself as she carried fresh bedsheets to Marian and Anders's room in the Keep. The servants had been told to steer clear—the fewer who poked around the better—so she'd taken it upon herself to straighten up a little while they were gone. She'd already managed to get some of the things stuffed in the room for storage moved somewhere else, so it felt more like a bedroom and less like a closet.

As she walked, she absently thumbed the still-unfamiliar ring on her finger. Nathaniel had given it to her after his display in the courtyard earlier. It was a Howe family ring—a lovely, old elegant design of gold and emerald. They hadn't discussed details yet, though she knew they would have to apply to the Revered Mother in the city and, as they were both Wardens, Alistair would have to give his approval. Nathaniel hadn't said as much, but she could tell he worried a little—he was so earnest about whatever he set his mind to.

Bethany bumped the door open with her hip, and placed the clean sheets on the only other available surface, a small table next to the fireplace. Her setting the sheets down made something rustle to the floor. She bent over to pick it up, scanning it absently—it was Varric's letter, the one Marian had read a part of at the breakfast table the other day. Smiling at the thought of the dwarf, she read further, wondering if he would have news of Aveline... a second page to the letter fell off as she was reading the first, and she frowned. It looked like it had been stuck to the first page—perhaps by sticky fingers—and she picked it up.

A moment later she dropped both sheets of paper, running out of the room to find Nathaniel. On the floor, the letter's scrawled script faced up into the empty room.

_One last thing. Sebastian has found your trail. It took him long enough, but it seems he wanted to secure his throne before setting out to execute his own form of justice_—_no pun intended for once. He knows you're in Ferelden and when he talked to me last, he didn't seem like he'd forgotten_—_or forgiven_—_anything._

* * *

><p>AN: Next Monday's usual update will happen on Tuesday instead as arysani will be traveling that day. Thanks for your patience!_  
><em>


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Anders started fidgeting when the city gates of Denerim appeared on the horizon. Most of it was to do with the predictable worries, such as a city full of templars and potentially walking straight into a trap laid by agents of the Divine. A small amount had to do with the fact that he'd been sleeping chastely (to say nothing of his dreams) next to Marian for the last four nights, her gentle but firm refusal to indulge his baser desires (and hers—he knew that look she got in her eye) leaving him... frustrated.

"Calm down," she said quietly, laying her hand on top of his.

"It doesn't matter what I remember, my insides are jumping like crickets because when I was running from the Circle I stayed away from big cities like Denerim."

She raised a brow. "Then how, exactly, did you run across Isabela in Denerim?"

"Isabela... Isabela, Isabela... no idea who you're talking about."

"Pirate queen, doesn't wear any trousers?"

He looked thoughtful for a minute. "Oh _Isabela_. Right! Um... and how, exactly, do you... or, what, really, do you... erm... _know_ about my," he coughed into his hand, shooting her a look out of the corner of his eye, "_acquaintance_ with Isabela?"

"You mean the 'electricity trick' she never shut up about?"

He coughed in earnest this time, and she was hard-pressed to keep a smirk off her face. "You knew Isabela?"

"Yep. She traveled with us for a bit... until she ran off with a qunari holy relic and left me to duel the Arishok for the fate of Kirkwall." She crossed her arms over her chest. The anger of that moment had long since faded—Isabela had never made any secret that her first priority was her own skin. Still, if Marian ever ran into the pirate queen again, Maker knew what she might do. Her knee still ached when it rained thanks to the giant's boot crunching it. She remembered fondly shoving her dagger into his gut when he bent down to declare himself the victor over her supposedly broken body, and Anders chuckled at the smile on her face.

The wagons started to slow and Marian stood, searching for the reason. She was surprised as anyone to see the queen of Ferelden dressed in riding leathers and looking for all the world like anything but a sovereign, her long hair in a single braid down her back.

"Alistair."

"Your Highness."

"A word, if you please?" Marian watched her eyes flick over the wagons and settle on her briefly before refocusing on the Warden-Commander. Anders joined her, curious.

"What do you think she wants?"

"Maker knows. But dressed like that..."

"Yeah," he pressed his lips together. "Nothing good." He rubbed her back in reassuring circles as they watched the queen and the Warden-Commander move their horses away from prying ears.

"Nice of you to visit me, Alistair," she began.

"Enough, Your Majesty. Why the escort?"

"Oh, just a favor to an old friend."

He scoffed. "We're hardly friends."

"No, but we're not enemies, and those that fall into that category for me are few and far between." She settled herself in the saddle, leather creaking as she twisted the reins around the pommel of her saddle and began calmly pulling on the fingers of her riding gloves. "Care to tell me, then, why you're here?"

"Grey Warden business. Nothing to concern yourself with."

"So then you're not seeking an alliance with the Free Marches to overthrow me?"

His eyes widened. "Maker, no! If I wanted the crown, I could've taken it years ago. I didn't want it then, and I don't want it now." He narrowed his eyes, leaning toward her in his saddle. "What's this about?"

"Then you know nothing of a prince from Starkhaven who showed up two days ago looking for you?" She watched, her gaze sharp, as he turned his head to look back at the wagon. "Not for you, then? Who is he here for? With Orlais nipping at my heels I need another enemy like I need a knife to my neck, Alistair. What are you not telling me?"

"He's looking for one of my Wardens."

She hissed a filthy curse, and he raised a brow. "You kiss your husband with that mouth?"

"My _husband_ is the one entertaining the sanctimonious prig who showed up out of nowhere and demanded that _I _tell him where to find the Wardens."

"And you didn't send an escort with him after us? I'm touched."

"Stop that. I do not want a war in my city, Alistair." Gloves in hand, she took up her reins again, clucking her tongue at her horse. "See that it doesn't happen, hmm?"

She set off towards the gates, her small entourage trotting after her. Alistair turned his horse towards the wagon, stopping in front of Marian and Anders.

"We have a problem."

#

"Sebastian." Marian rubbed her temples after Alistair recounted what Anora had said. "I should have known he'd catch up with us sooner or later."

"Who's he again?" Anders asked, looking from one to the other.

"Prince of Starkhaven; we helped him avenge the murders of his family. He was promised to the Chantry as a teenager, but when his family was murdered he was very conflicted. He didn't know whether he should remain a brother or actively pursue the throne of Starkhaven." Marian looked at the gates of Denerim, eyes distant and sad. "He followed us around for awhile, trying to make a decision. He wanted to stay with the Chantry, but..."

Anders winced. "I take it he and I aren't best pals after what I did."

"Elthina was like a mother to him," she said softly, covering his hand with hers. "Remember me telling you I started a war with Starkhaven?" Marian raised her eyebrow. "This is what I meant. He gave me an ultimatum: either I kill you or he leaves." She paused. "I chose you."

Words dried up in Anders's throat. She'd never said this before—that there had been a moment of choice. Granted, he'd never asked for specifics but... well, maybe he hadn't wanted to know. He closed his eyes a moment, absorbing this new-found knowledge. If there had ever been any doubt in his mind that he didn't deserve her… it was now erased.

Marian continued. "But, he had to reclaim his throne and armies before he could set out... I thought the intervening years would temper his anger." Her eyes saddened. "I guess it was too much to hope for."

"Wait, this guy wants to kill me and you... feel sorry for him?" Anders narrowed his eyes at her. "Just... how close were you?"

Marian rolled her eyes. "He was a brother in the Chantry, Anders—there are vows involved with that. But he was a friend. I will not look forward to meeting him as an enemy."

"What?" Anders grabbed her arm. "We're not meeting him! We're staying as far away as we can."

"Do you think we can hide again? Anora doesn't have any reason to conceal our presence—in fact, things with Orlais might be easier if she turned you over to the Divine," Marian pointed out.

"Well the fact that she's not questioning who or what Sebastian is looking for is promising," Alistair offered with a shrug. "But I don't think Anora would be able to take the ignorant act very far if it came down to it—or even if she would. She _is _her father's daughter at the end of the day and if that makes her more likely to do anything it takes to get the Orlesians off her back..."

"The fact that you labeled it as 'Grey Warden business' might give us some wiggle room," Marian mused. "The Wardens are public heroes in Ferelden. Anora wouldn't dare erode public support by handing one over."

"So, what, we just waltz right into Denerim and let this prince find us?"

"It might be the best option," Marian said slowly. "Even as angry as he might be, Sebastian wouldn't risk hurting innocent people in a city. We may be more protected there than out here." She bent over, retrieving the helmets they had discarded earlier. "Be sure to wear this though. He's a dead shot with an arrow."

Anders fiddled with the helmet. "What do you think he'd do if he knew my… situation? That Justice is gone and with him my memory?"

"I don't know." Marian shook her head, then reached over to clasp his hand. "I've come this far with you. I'm not about to lose you now."

#

The wagons pulled into the Grey Warden compound, and were greeted by a small cluster of Wardens. A red-headed man separated himself from the group and hustled himself to Alistair's horse.

"Warden-Commander."

"You look worried, Phineas! What's the face for?"

The other man frowned. "Not the time for jokes. There's a... prince in my office. Waiting for you."

Alistair turned and looked at Marian and Anders. "Well. No time like the present, eh? How do you want to do this?"

"If he intends to kill me, I'd just as soon run, really," Anders said from behind the helmet. Marian didn't put on any protective gear, hoping that she would be better off not trying to deceive Sebastian.

"Take that off," she said and lifted it off his head, making him duck and look around nervously.

"I thought you said I should wear this for protection!"

"Well since he knows we're here, I'm starting to wonder if it won't make you a—"

Her words were cut off by a yelp from Anders, jumping and dropping the helmet to the ground. It rolled, resting on its side, an arrow protruding through the eyeslit. She looked towards the doorway of the small barracks to see the Prince of Starkhaven lowering his bow. The look on his face was not one she recognized—gone was the unsure Chantry boy; in his place was a self-assured regent, and she briefly wondered if this was the man he had left behind when he took up his vows.

"Did you not believe me when I said I could hit the eyeslit of a helmet from the top of the ramparts? And that was over a decade ago—if I were you, I'd wager I'd only gotten better."

"Sebastian."

"Still protecting a criminal, I see."

"Still holding others to standards above your own, _I see_," Marian folded her arms over her chest and frowned. Anders ducked behind her in a move he would admit was cowardly, but the man did have it out for him.

"Hand him over, Marian, and I will leave you be. As a gesture of goodwill."

"A gesture of goodwill would be putting down your bow, Sebastian. I have no weapons."

"I am not leaving here without that... creature," Sebastian gestured to Anders.

"Can't we just talk about this?" Anders asked from his place of safety.

"I do not converse with demons. Hand him over, Marian." He came out into the full sunshine, the white of his armor glinting in the sun. Alistair stepped closer to Marian and held his hand out.

"Hey now, let's all tuck them back in our trousers and have a discussion."

"I am the Prince of Starkhaven, and I am taking that murderer with me back to the Free Marches to face justice."

"Yes, and I'm the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and he's a Warden. He is out of your reach."

"I am not sure who you think you are, but that man murdered a Grand Cleric. Whatever story he has told you, he cannot hide beneath your skirts any longer."

"I'll have you know that I haven't worn a skirt in quite some time, and I can guarantee Anders has never hidden under it."

"You have no authority to hold him! I am the _Prince _of Starkhaven!"

"And I'm the bastard son of a king, if we're really going to lay them out and measure, which puts me just a smidge above you in the royalty hierarchy, _and _I helped defeat the Blight. So... settle down."

"I will not!"

Alistair punched him in the jaw, to the shock of everyone present.

"You ready to listen to me, or are we still going to have problems?"

Sebastian came back up, cradling his jaw, fire in his eyes. "You would _dare_?"

"I'll do it again, and possibly a third or fourth time until you settle down. You're not taking my Warden anywhere. I'm a little sick and tired of everyone telling me what I can and cannot do, so I do apologize if you're feeling the brunt of some pent-up aggression I've been holding onto for about a fortnight."

"You would harbor a murderer!"

"From what I hear everyone here has murdered a few people. Except Finn," he nodded over at the redhead, who frowned comically at him. "Now I'm willing to sit down and talk with you, Your Highness, but if you try again to mete out your justice in _my _country, the very least you're going to get is another knuckle sandwich, are we clear?"

His face thunderous, Sebastian nevertheless agreed to Alistair's terms and entered the Warden compound. Anders kept behind Marian as they followed Alistair to an office.

"So," Alistair said, removing his gauntlets and eyeing the blue-eyed man from Starkhaven. "Sit down and we'll discuss this like adults."

"There's nothing to discuss," Sebastian bit out, arms folded across his chest. "I seek a wanted murderer and intend to take him back with me—Warden or no."

"Sebastian, you don't know... recent events," Marian said. "It may not change your view, but I would have you hear them anyway."

Sebastian gazed at her coldly, his eyes finding Anders who was trying—and failing—to not be very noticeable. "And the abomination says nothing for himself? I should have expected no less."

"Uh, sorry, but as I have no recollection of who you are, I intend to let Marian tell this part of the story," Anders said, fingers twitching. _If he so much as reaches for that bow, I'm flinging a barrier up so fast he'll be blown out the back wall..._

Sebastian scowled, but Marian held up a hand. "This is what we need to discuss..." She leaned forward. "About two months ago..."

#

Sebastian sat back, his expression cold. "Ignoring the fact that this... _story_ may not even be true, this convenient loss of memory does not change what he did."

"No," Marian agreed calmly. "It doesn't. Nor does the fact that I was the one wielding the blade change the fact that you killed a whole company of mercenaries for what a few performed."

"I hardly think—"

"You don't want justice, Sebastian!" Marian said, rubbing her forehead. "You want to execute him!"

"His life for all the others he took? I think it fair trade—generous, even."

"Death is never justice," Marian said quietly.

Sebastian clenched his hands, but they still trembled with anger. "You... _dare _say her words to me!"

"Someone has to," Marian snapped. "You heard them plenty of times but never really listened: you waffled between your vows and your birthright for _years_—while she told you—many times while I was standing there—that you haven't really changed. "

"Stop, Marian." The prince's face was pained.

"What would Elthina say if she saw you now?"

"I'll never know, will I?" Sebastian ran his hands through his hair. "I... can't just forgive him, Marian."

Silence fell into the room. Marian closed her eyes a brief moment. "Then," she said, standing from her chair. 'Take me."

"What—?"

"Marian—!"

Marian spoke over the shocked protests. "If someone's life must be forfeit, it is mine. I watched Anders lose control to the spirit—a steady, downward spiral over the years that I did nothing to halt because I was selfish. I loved him too much to suggest that maybe he needed help—I can hide behind the fact that I didn't know much about possession and magic and things—but that doesn't change the fact that I did nothing. I could have prevented this and I didn't." She inhaled a shuddering breath. "If you want to kill someone, let it be me and justice will be satisfied."

Sebastian eyed her sadly. "You know I cannot do that."

"And why is that?"

"Well Fenris would kill me, for one."

A smile broke across her face. "He's in Starkhaven with you?"

The prince relaxed, leaning against the desk and crossing one ankle over the other. Alistair raised a brow and looked at Anders, who had nothing to contribute and just widened his eyes in confusion.

"Had to practically tie him to the gate; he didn't want to be left behind."

"Well, I do appreciate it. Two people attacking first and asking questions later wouldn't have helped. I do miss him though."

"Aside from concerns about your mental health," he nodded towards Anders, "I'm sure he misses you too."

"So what do we do now, Sebastian? Justice is... gone. All that's left is a man either of us hardly know. But I've gotten to know him, and he bears little resemblance to the man we knew. I think," she looked at Anders and held out her hand to him, lacing her fingers with his and pulling him forward a little, "that he's paying for it."

Anders pressed his lips together. "For what it's worth—and I don't know if it's much—I'm sorry. I can't even... it keeps me up at night, knowing that I did these things. I can't ever..."

"Well you did them, whether you remember or not," Sebastian cut him off firmly, still leaning against the desk. "You are responsible for the death of a good woman, and I can neither forgive, nor forget your transgression against me. The Maker advises forgiveness, but I do not have it in me to do so. Perhaps that is proof that I was never meant for the Chantry." He pushed away from the desk and turned to Alistair. "I am not the only one looking for him. Even if I can tell myself that I am leaving his judgment to the Maker, there is still the matter of the Divine." He looked at Anders. "You are a wanted man. You will never truly be safe, even if you hide behind your Wardens."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Perhaps the fact that the Blight never reached the Free Marches gives you leave to belittle my Order, but without us the entirety of Thedas would have been dead five times over. We do what no one else will, and I will defend each man to his end."

"But I hear that your First Warden is a man who likes his political power. I can't imagine he'd side with you against the Divine."

"He won't have to. Once he tells the Divine what we really do, she'll toss her cookies and tell him to get out of her cathedral," Anders murmured, which made Alistair chuckle.

"Probably," he agreed.

"Does it help your sense of justice that I'll die a particularly horrible death when my time comes?" Anders offered. He avoided looking at Marian—he could just _feel_ the questions she wanted to ask.

"It does nothing for my sense of _justice _but it does please me personally a fair bit, yes," Sebastian admitted, and sighed, standing up from the table. "I wanted to come here, and kill you, and be done with that part of my life," he rubbed his forehead.

"You can't solve every problem by cutting its throat, Sebastian."

"Stop that," he looked at her with a small smile.

"Stop what?" She started to grin.

"You know what. Stop sounding like her. I feel like I should drop to my knees and ask for penance when you say my name like that."

"I won't make you do that in front of all these people."

"How magnanimous of you."

"So... you'll go back? To Starkhaven?"

He shrugged. "Justice is dead. I do not know this man," he gestured to Anders and moved through the group of them to the door. "With regards to the friendship we once had, Marian, I would give you one warning: our friend, Sister Nightingale, is here. I've seen her in the Chantry. Remember what Elthina said about her. I'd be on my guard if I were you, and I wouldn't take a bet that said she wasn't here looking for the both of you."

"Thank you, Sebastian."

"You know, I do feel... lighter."

"Vengeance is a heavy burden," Anders agreed, and Sebastian narrowed his eyes, studying him.

"You do not know how true those words are."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** And we've officially entered rated (light) M territory!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

"Well, I suppose someone should tell the Queen that her diplomatic incident with Starkhaven has been averted," Alistair said cheerfully as the door shut behind Sebastian. He rummaged around in the desk, coming up with a scrap of parchment. He scribbled on it, stamped it with a wax seal, and handed it to someone outside in the hall.

"Who's this Sister Nightingale that our bonny prince just mentioned?" Alistair continued, coming back into the room and sitting down in his chair.

"Your friend, Leliana. The one we're supposed to meet."

"Oh. Didn't realize she'd taken up a different name... well, that changes things a bit. I didn't think she'd get here so quickly." Alistair cleared his throat. "I'd offer to put this off but it's likely that she knows we're here anyway. No rest for the Wardens," he murmured.

Anders swallowed. "Yes. We should do this today." Marian's hand snaked into his and held tight.

"Right. Well, give me a few moments to get things in order—I'm sure Finn's taken care of unloading the wagons but you never know where he might put stuff. He gets overly excited sometimes…" He exited the room; they could hear his voice calling to other Wardens in the distance.

Anders tugged on Marian's hand, pulling her onto his lap where he threaded his free hand through her hair, tugging the band out so it swung loose. Marian murmured a protest, but he closed the distance between them, pressing his mouth against hers. It was a different sort of kiss than the ones they'd shared already—it had neither the desperation of passion nor the hard fear of the later years. It was a kiss like their first few months together, a slow, lingering exploration that made her toes curl in her boots. When they parted, she was breathless, leaning her forehead against his

"Don't _ever_ try that again," he murmured.

"What?"

"That whole martyr thing. I won't let you…" his voice roughened and he cleared his throat. "I'm not worth it, Marian."

She backed away slightly, cupping his face in her hands, fingers teasing the stubble on his chin. "You are worth ten princes of Starkhaven, Anders."

He grinned. "Not eleven?"

She chuckled. "That might be pushing it."

"Why?" he asked. "Why go through so much for me? Surely the mage revolution doesn't need me any longer. You could have discarded me a long time ago."

Marian pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I told you a long time ago that there is no one in all of Thedas whom I'd rather spend my life with—for no one else has my heart so completely." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now, let's go find Alistair."

#

The Denerim Chantry still smelled new—the scent of incense wafting on the air still couldn't quite mask the smell of freshly lumbered wood. It had apparently undergone a recent expansion, having used a quickly built structure in the years following the Blight after Denerim's destruction.

Marian and Anders waited near the back as Alistair walked up the main aisle, searching for his friend. The Chantry was a holy place—it was as neutral a ground to speak on as any. Though, considering Anders's unfortunate history with Chantries, she wondered if it was also a jab.

Alistair returned, frowning in confusion. Marian stepped up to meet him.

"Did you find her?"

"No, but you know what else is odd? There's no one here. No sisters, brothers, templars, chanters—not even townsfolk here to pray. That's too strange to be a coincidence."

"Perhaps she cleared the Chantry to wait for us." Marian shrugged. "So we will wait." She turned to speak to Anders and fell quiet. He was standing in front of one of the several memorial stands set in regular intervals along the sides of the Chantry. As she watched, he picked up a remembrance candle and lit it with a flick of his finger.

"Who's it for?" she asked softly, coming up beside him, curling her fingers into his.

"A woman I don't remember meeting or killing," he said sadly.

Marian found another unlit candle and held it out to him to light. "For Mother and Carver." She leaned her head against his shoulder, smelling the sweet oils of the candles rise into the air.

Alistair came up as well and wordlessly held out a candle to be lit. He didn't say who it was for, but she could read the answer in the thoughtful expression on his face and the way he fingered something at his throat.

They were roused from their contemplation by the sound of the door creaking open behind them.

"You know, after everything I've seen, one should think I would be able to predict the ways life convenes in the oddest of places." A woman came into the light. "Hello Alistair."

He smiled. "It's been awhile."

"It has," she agreed. "I see you've made new friends." He looked pointedly at the eye-within-a-sunburst symbol she wore tooled into the leather of her armor. "We've all changed Alistair. I still remember the boy who refused to lead, and from what I'm hearing now you stood your ground against agents of the Divine to protect your friends." She smiled a little. "I'm proud of you."

"I had thought to ask for your help, but the more I'm learning, the less I think you can help me." Alistair frowned a little. "Leliana, I have to ask: is the Chantry stockpiling phylacteries for use on non-mages?"

Leliana's face went still, her eyes flicking to Marian. "I have not seen one in use in person... but I have heard... rumors," she said carefully. "These are dangerous and uncertain times, my friend. The Chantry must use any method at its disposal to ensure the safety of her children."

"Including blood magic?" he bit out.

The Seeker sighed. "I did not come here to fight, Alistair. If it makes you feel any better I personally do not agree with the use of phylacteries on non-mages, but it is not up to me." She paused. "For the sake of what once was, I can tell you a little, perhaps even forget that I was here. But I cannot protect you, or them." She turned to Marian. "When last we spoke, I told you the Divine was watching Kirkwall. I thought you had more sense than to run off with the man responsible for Elthina's death."

"The man responsible for Elthina's death is gone. This man bears the weight of his mistakes, but no memory of them."

"And yet you protected him even then."

She nodded. "No one ever said love gave you any sense."

Leliana pressed her lips together and looked back at Alistair. "Your friend Gerod Caron has disappeared. The Imperium is restless, their eyes on Kirkwall with, we suspect, the intention to reclaim it and much of the Free Marches. There is something important in that city they want; the events of the last few years have only weakened Kirkwall's defenses, her ability to defend herself. The Divine must stay a step ahead; she has already written Kirkwall off as a loss."

Alistair frowned. "What does this have to do with Caron?"

"The Warden-Commander of Orlais is more in the Empress's pocket than the First Warden's. And the Empress would bend over backwards to please the Divine."

"She's getting a bit old for that, isn't she?"

"I have heard about the talking darkspawn. There are threads that seem to lead to each other, but I have not yet found the knot. I do not doubt my Order will seek an alliance with the Wardens, against the Imperium; I do not know what they are up to, but they have turned their gaze away from Seheron. They no longer worry at it like a toy taken away from them; instead they focus on reclaiming their lost lands. Kirkwall is the jewel they are most concerned with. Where the Imperium is involved, my Order always keeps one eye open; and Kirkwall's history is not clean."

"You know, I found something, when I was there," Marian began carefully, and both Leliana and Alistair trained their attention on her. "Rumors, mostly, that the magisters had been doing something in Kirkwall: thinning the Veil with the deaths of thousands of slaves. And there are ruins, old ones, beneath the city. Not to mention the ancient dwarven ruins even further below. If the Imperium is seeking something, do not doubt it's powerful and dangerous."

Leliana nodded. "You do not allay my fears, but merely add to them. Is there a way I could happen upon this information, if I am to leave out my meeting with you?"

Marian shrugged. "The only name I can give you is the Band of Three. I don't know who they were, but they were the ones putting the pieces together."

She sighed and looked to Anders. "It is for the Maker to judge you, but few will see it that way. Watch yourself, for yours is a life many seek to take." She leaned up and kissed Alistair on the cheek, and Marian could've sworn he blushed. "I'm going to take my leave, Alistair. I'm sorry I cannot help you."

"You have helped," he replied. "Thank you."

She gave him a sad smile and was gone in a blink, melting into the shadows and then disappearing completely.

"You know, all this 'the Maker will judge you' is starting to really weigh on me. Any chance I'm going to get to enjoy myself at all in this city? Or do we have more Doom and Gloom on the schedule for later?"

Marian grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist, letting him pull her into an embrace. "I suppose we could push it off until a little later."

Anders was looking at her with a funny expression on his face.

"What?" she smiled. "What are you thinking about?"

"Jumping off a cliff," he said with a goofy grin and before she could ask what he meant by that, he had pulled away from her and jogged to the Chantry door. Flinging it open, he cupped his hands around his mouth to shout at the Chantry courtyard at large. "Sister Leliana! Can you come here for a moment?"

"Anders!" Marian half-laughed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm rather wondering that myself," Alistair said, eyebrows raised. "We just got let off by a Seeker and he wants to call her back?"

Leliana, looking a bit perplexed, reappeared. "You do know how to spoil a mysterious exit," she said in a wry voice. "What is it?"

Anders returned to Marian, holding her hands, his expression dancing somewhere between playfulness and absolute sincerity. "I don't know what sort of vows or other duties that Seekers have—nor do I want to know," he added hastily as Leliana raised a manicured brow. "But I wonder if any of those duties extend to... weddings."

Marian felt her heart jump, landing somewhere in the region of her throat, making breathing very difficult.

Leliana's gaze softened and she looked from Anders to Marian. "Sadly, it does not. A Seeker's duties are a little more... prosaic. However, if you like, I can speak to the Revered Mother here and... persuade her not to ask too many questions."

"Anders...," Marian said, then paused. He turned to her, still holding her hands. "You don't have to..."

He smiled, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. "To what? Do something I should have done within months of meeting you nine years ago? I may be a bit of an idiot at times, but even I can tell that I will never meet another woman like you, Marian Hawke, and every time I think about being without you, I feel like a part of myself is missing."

Marian swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "I can wait, Anders. You've known me for all of a month. I don't want to you to force..." She trailed off as he brought her hands to his lips.

"I'm not forcing anything here, Marian."

"You two really know how to make me feel like the proverbial third wheel," Alistair complained, but he was smiling. Leliana let out a giggle that was entirely at odds with her severe armor. She turned back toward the door.

"I will alert the Revered Mother, if you wish to wait." She nodded her head and she was gone.

"We don't even have rings," Marian said with a nervous laugh.

"Here," Alistair said, reaching around his neck and pulling off the leather thong. He undid the knot and two glimmering rings fell onto his palms. "Elissa found these during the Blight. Dawn and Dusk, I think they're called." He shrugged and gave a half smile. "We never got to use them—it seems fitting that you should."

"Oh, no, we couldn't use those," Marian protested, but stopped when he pressed them insistently into her hands.

"I miss Elissa," he said with a half smile, "perhaps a part of me always will. But it has been ten years. I think she would want me to move on—not mourn a ghost forever."

#

"I knew it," she managed to get out as Anders shoved her through the door and into the room, his lips on her neck. "You just married me to... get me in bed. Oops." She got a little carried away with trying to unlace his tunic and ripped it. Just a tiny rip. Easily repaired.

"Well," his hands fumbled with her own tunic, yanking it off over her head, "you forced my," he kissed her as soon as she was revealed and the tunic tossed aside, "hand."

"Is that so?" She punctuated each word with a kiss, her fingers scrabbling at the ties of his trousers.

He scooped her up and tossed her towards the bed—it wasn't luxurious by any means, in fact, it was a lower bunk in a room meant to sleep eight; luckily the Wardens of Denerim weren't so numerous as to need all the space.

"I feel like an apprentice all over again," he mumbled, trying not to bang his head on the underside of the bed above him as he tried to get his trousers off while she wiggled out of hers.

"Aww, now I feel really special."

He raised an eyebrow. "You should. What's about to happen in this cramped little bed is going to be," he loomed over her, half-falling, his palms flat on the bed, bracketing her face, "very," he leaned down to kiss her gently, "special."

"You forget, I've been having sex with you for seven years," she grinned, sliding her hands over his hips and the small of his back.

"Aw, don't be like that. Think of this as a new experience. Otherwise I'm going to get all nervous and worry about not meeting your expectations. Which," he cocked his head, "is a bit creepy considering your expectations are also me. I'm not sure how I should feel about that."

She reached up to the nape of his neck and pulled him down to her lips. "Less talking."

"Right."

There was no electricity trick, and there were some things that were the same, from where she was laying. Though, in all fairness, as it had been quite the dry spell, she wasn't sure if any skill was really required. She did consider (before this moment, some nights when she couldn't sleep) that he might just be able to breathe on her and bring her to her completion. Thankfully, she didn't have to worry about such simplicity. He was a very attentive lover, coaxing sounds out of her that were new to his ears, and she had made for no one except herself (which she always had to muffle because it felt... very odd to be doing that when he was within hearing distance) in quite a long time. It was... unpredictable; more evidence that he wasn't exactly the same man she knew.

The best part, though, the best part was that there was no disapproving blue glow to his eyes when he let himself go; and afterwards, he held her, with no recrimination about how they were doomed or how distracting she was. His pillow talk had nothing to do with revolutions or mage freedom, and that little detail was more glorious than even the really good sex after two years without.

She lay her cheek on his chest and he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling the blanket up so they wouldn't catch a chill.

"Copper for your thoughts," she said, pressing her lips against his sternum.

"I don't know. My thoughts might be worth more than that."

"A silver then," she chuckled.

"Promise you won't hit me?"

"Why would you think I'd hit you?"

"I don't know, seems like something you'd do if you didn't like what I had to say."

"I promise I won't hit you," she laughed, tilting her head and kissing his chin.

"I'm wondering how unrealistic it is of me to wish the world would just go solve its own problems so I can settle down with you and experiment with this kids thing."

"Pretty unrealistic," she admitted and she felt him sigh. "The first part, at least," she amended.

"Oh?"

"Mm. The second part I could get on board with. It's one of the stupider things I've ever considered, but if not now, when?"

He kissed the crown of her head. "I like the way you think."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hold tight, kids. Two more chapters to go and maaaaybe a surprise. :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The next morning Marian woke up to find her backside very cold. It seemed some things hadn't changed all that much—Anders was as much a blanket hog as he ever was. She pulled and yanked and was able to get a smidgen of a corner back from her bedmate who had apparently decided to wrap himself in most of the blanket.

"Hey!" She poked him in the ribs.

"I didn't do it," he mumbled, rubbing his face into the pillow.

Giggling she tried another tack, kissing him gently until he blinked his cognac eyes at her.

"Mmm. I could get used to waking up to that," he smiled, reaching for her.

She snuggled up against him, managing to pull more blanket to cover her cold parts. "Good morning to you as well, husband."

He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Bethany is going to be angry at me," she said a moment later, her fingers absently combing through with his unbound hair, which was not quite back to its original color, but she wasn't entirely sure she hated it.

"You are _not _allowed to think of your sister on our marriage bed."

"I could be persuaded to think of other things..."

"That's more like it."

#

"Why is Bethany going to be angry with you?" Anders asked sometime later as they were finding and putting on discarded clothing from the night before.

"Because I got married, and she wasn't here to be a bridesmaid. She always wanted to be a bridesmaid when we were kids." Marian clipped her breast band into place and tugged on her shirt.

"I'm sure she'll forgive you," Anders said, capturing her hand and pulling her to stand between his knees as he sat on the bed. "She'll soon have her own wedding to plan, if that little display at the table in Vigil's Keep was any indication. And we," he pushed up her shirt slightly, pressing a kiss to the skin around her belly button, "have better things to do," kiss, "then worry about," kiss, "sisters..."

"We'll never get anywhere today if you keep that up," Marian said with a smile.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." He pulled her down for a kiss.

"Mmm. I would like to linger," she murmured, tracing a finger along his jaw, "but we did promise to visit Alistair's friend this morning..."

He gave her one last kiss and sighed. "No time for a proper honeymoon, hmm?"

"I'll make it up to you," she promised with a smile and dodged from his grabbing hands with a laugh. "Later! Come on, I'm hungry!"

"Vixen," he muttered, smiling, and reached for his shirt.

#

"Commander's out in the market," said one of the Wardens when they had grabbed some breakfast. "Seemed nervous though. Where are you going?"

Marian glanced at Anders, perplexed. "To visit an old lady."

"Huh." The Warden shrugged. "Anyway, he said to tell you to meet him there."

They found Alistair picking over flowers at a stall in the market district.

"Do you think she'll like these?" he said in an agitated voice, pointing at a bouquet of daises, after they'd greeted him.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure they're fine."

"What's wrong Alistair?" Marian asked, smiling a little at his fidgeting. "Wynne is an old friend of yours; no reason to be nervous, right?"

Alistair looked up. "Wynne? Oh, yes. I'm not worried. Let's get a move on, shall we?" He stooped to pick up a basket at his side, filled with bread, fruit, a couple of wrapped cheeses and a bottle of ale, and they followed him to a section of town that was a little more rundown.

"A word of warning," Alistair said, pausing beside a door, "it seems the closer she gets to... well, the worse her health gets, the closer the spirit seems to be. She's... talked to it before, when I last visited. Pay it no mind. She's not insane—"

Marian raised an eyebrow. "Alistair, think for a moment about who you're talking to."

Anders gave a jaunty little wave. Alistair rolled his eyes. "Of course. Forget I said anything." He knocked on the door.

A young woman with bright red hair and a friendly smile opened.

"Warden-Commander!" she said, eyes lighting up. "What an unexpected pleasure!"

"Hey, I remember you!" Anders chimed in. "Petra, right?"

#

"Nathaniel!" Sigrun shouted, entering the Keep, and her companion gave her a quizzical look.

"You gotta shout so much, kiddo?"

She let out a bark of laughter and turned to her guest, looking him in the eye, which was a rare treat. "Who you callin' _kiddo_?"

He smiled. "It's the pigtails."

She returned the grin and cupped her hands over her mouth. "NATHANIEL!"

A man pulling his shirt over his head came down the back stair and into the hall. "Maker's breath, Sigrun, you'll wake the dead."

She put one hand on her hip. "And what are _you _doing abed this hour?"

"None of your business."

"Will she hit you if I tell her you called her 'none of my business'? I do think she has a name, Grump."

He gave her a faintly disgusted look. "Don't call me that. Who's this?" He nodded at her guest, still with that look on his face.

"Varric Tethras, at your service, serah," Varric tucked one arm over his stomach and bowed at the waist.

"And what may I do for you, Master Tethras? I apologize for the manner of your... introduction to our hall."

Varric grinned. "No harm done, serah. I'm looking for a couple of friends of mine, believed to be sheltering here with the Wardens."

"No one here but Wardens and their families. We do keep a complement of guards and small farmholders, but if you're looking for someone, you might want to try the city of Amaranthine."

"I'm a friend."

"I'm sure you are, but I'm afraid I cannot help you."

"Varric!" a voice shouted and Bethany sprinted the distance between the stairwell and the dwarf, falling to her knees to wrap her arms around him.

"Sunshine!" He grunted when she threw herself at him, and patted her on the back before she leaned away, beaming.

"What are you doing here?"

"Did Marian get my letters?"

Bethany nodded. "She did, and we sent a fast rider. Haven't heard back yet, but I'm sure the note got to them." She was doing a very good job of convincing herself.

"Well not a week after I sent that, those Seekers I mentioned decided to... chat me up a bit. And let me tell you, those agents of the Divine are a hundred times less fuzzy than the templars, and you know I've never called a templar fuzzy. Well, except for Keran," he admitted with a shrug, and Bethany giggled.

"So you came yourself instead of using the same method of communication you have been employing for years?" Nathaniel looked down at him, arms crossed over his chest and scowling. Sigrun elbowed him in the thigh.

"Their method of questioning isn't to my taste," Varric replied. "They've made camp in the Champion's estate, and I'm pretty sure they're not leaving Kirkwall until they get their blood from a stone. I didn't particularly want to stick around."

Bethany's shoulders sagged. "Anders and Marian are in Denerim."

"Know when they'll be back?"

"A week, at least," Sigrun offered. "They took a whole caravan. If we send a fast rider we could get a message to them in as little as three days. But it will take longer than that for the three of them to get back."

"Three?"

"Our Warden-Commander is with them."

"Ah, the king's bastard." Varric nodded to himself.

"You seem to know an awful lot," Nathaniel began, narrowing his eyes.

"It's my business, messere," Varric assured him with a disarming smile, and Sigrun giggled. Nathaniel used his knee to gently nudge her for her lack of solidarity. "So Sunshine," Varric turned to Bethany, "you going to tell me and Bianca what that shiny bauble is you keep twirling 'round your finger, or are you going to make me guess?" He looked pointedly at where she was fiddling with her engagement ring—a nervous habit she had not stopped doing for days.

"Oh!" She colored and rose from her kneeling position, moving next to Nathaniel and carefully threading her hand into his crossed arms.

Varric rolled his eyes. "You and your sister both," he clucked his tongue at her. "What is it with you two and the broody types?"

#

The red-haired woman at the door blinked.

"Er, yes, I'm Petra," said the woman, obviously not recognizing Anders at all. "Do I know you…?"

"I'm An—" Marian shoved an elbow in his ribs. "Ow! I'm, um, Eugene. McGillicutty. I, er, was at the Circle about the same time as you."

"Oh, it's nice to meet a fellow mage then," she looked questioningly at Marian, as if wondering if she were a mage too.

"I'm Mrs. McGllicutty, not a mage," she managed to say, lips trembling with suppressed laughter.

"These are friends of mine," Alistair said, stepping in smoothly to redirect her attention back to him. "How is she, Petra? Up to having visitors?"

The young woman nodded, widening the door to allow them through. "Yes, ser. She's almost been like her old self—I think she even finished that scarf for you."

"That will be most welcome once winter hits. Vigil's Keep is drafty when those winds come down off the mountains."

Petra cast him a sidelong glance. "Are you… staying in Denerim long, Commander?"

Alistair shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But," he smiled gently, "I do hope we might perhaps… talk more. Before I leave perhaps.. Perhaps… later for dinner, perhaps? The inn has a wonderful mutton stew. Perhaps—oh, Maker, I'm saying 'perhaps' way too many times."

Petra giggled. "I'd like that, ser."

"Alistair, please," he corrected with a goofy grin.

"Alistair."

"Now who feels like the third wheel?" muttered Anders. Marian shushed him with a nudge of her elbow.

They followed Alistair and Petra through a small living area, sparsely furnished but very clean, into a bedroom. A very frail-looking elderly woman sat in a rocking chair under an open window looking out over a small garden.

"Alistair!" The white-haired woman smiled and moved to stand, but the Warden stopped her, bending to kiss her cheek.

"Wynne. You're looking exceptionally well today."

She chuckled in a warm voice. "I see your ability to lie has not improved over the weeks since I saw you last."

"Well, you know me," Alistair grinned. "I need to practice every chance I get."

"I'll go make some tea, shall I, and let you get caught up." Petra exited the room.

"Wynne, these are friends of mine, Marian and—"

"Anders," Wynne's blue eyes landed on Anders with what felt like almost an electric shock. Her gaze intensified for a moment and without warning, her eyes started to glow. Anders felt his mouth go dry—so _this_ is what Marian had described to him.

"_He was like us and yet not like us. Anger and fear twisting them into something else…_" The glow faded and Wynne slumped over. Alistair knelt next to her in alarm.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have come—" Anders took a step back, the only thing keeping him from fleeing was Marian's hand in his.

"No, I'm alright," Wynne said, raising her head wearily and patting Alistair's hand. "I apologize. It has been… difficult lately. Come here, child." She waved Anders closer who hesitated briefly, then went to stand beside her chair. She looked into his face a long minute. "My poor, angry apprentice," she murmured sadly. "I should have helped your work through your feelings. I am sorry for my neglect."

Anders blinked, feeling an unexpected surge of emotion. "It wasn't your fault. I… well." He cleared his throat. "What's done is done."

"And yet…" Wynne frowned, grasping his chin in surprisingly firm grip despite her frail fingers. "I sense something… a scar upon your soul." Her eyes widened. "Your… companion, he is gone then?"

"Justice… weakened outside the Fade," Marian supplied, darting a glance at Anders. "He has lost all memory of being… joined to Justice."

"Yes, he was as I am now," she murmured. "But being young and healthy, you survived. Whereas I will not," she smiled. "I can see it. That scar… it was a wound…" She frowned and Anders suddenly felt like an adolescent apprentice again, sitting in the back row of a class, pouting over some imagined slight. She released his chin, her face thoughtful.

"I think that I can heal this tear—this scar upon your soul, Anders." She shifted in her chair. "You say you have lost all memory of your time joined to him, yes? How long was it?"

"Ten years, give or take."

Wynne shook her head. "A lifetime." She looked at Anders again, her eyes intense. "Would you want this scar healed, Anders? Would you want those memories; that life you lost returned to you?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Anders blinked at her dumbly for a moment. "Wha... you mean... scar on my soul? What is that? How... can you see that?"

Wynne chuckled and winced as though it hurt to be so mirthful. "It practically glows. How can I not see it?"

"And this... scar is what keeps him from remembering?" Marian asked.

Wynne nodded. "Indeed."

"But you can heal it."

She nodded again, her eyes trained on Anders, who seemed intent on some mote of dust in the light that came through the window. "I can. It may be the last thing I ever heal, but if that's true, I certainly wouldn't regret it."

Marian reached out her hand and twined her fingers with Anders', laying her hand on the arm closest to her. "Do you want her to?"

"I'd get all my memories back?" He was still looking away, his voice flat.

Wynne tucked a wisp of hair back into her bun. "I should think so. The scar is what's left of your joining, that which merged with you in a way the good spirits are never meant to do. It... overwhelmed you, lay atop your soul like a suffocating blanket whose threads clung to you, and without it there is a gap."

"And if you don't heal it?"

Wynne shrugged a shoulder, though she hadn't really considered not doing so. "Like any scar, it will fend for itself as time goes on. Scar tissue will heal over it," her eyes twinkled for a moment and Marian watched Alistair watching her, smiling. "Perhaps it will pain you when it rains."

Anders snorted at that. "Or give me heartburn when I'm watching children play with kittens." Marian raised a brow and he must've sensed it (she smiled at the thought) because he turned his head to look at her. "Even Justice disapproved of Ser Pounce. Thought I was imprisoning the little bugger. Couldn't do a damn thing to convince him Pounce _liked_ it in my pouch," he chuckled but it didn't reach his eyes. He squeezed her hand in his and reached his other up to her cheek. "What do you want? Do you want your Anders back?"

She smiled at him and spoke softly, repeating his words back to him. "What do you mean? He's right here." He returned the smile and leaned in, gently pressing his lips to hers.

Alistair cleared his throat loudly and Marian ducked her head, blushing. She never blushed like that, but these were strangers and she was more upset that they had seen a private moment than the kissing part.

"Well?" Wynne asked, looking up at them, her eyes clear that she already knew the answer.

Anders shook his head. "I know what I did. No one will ever let me forget. I'd rather have the scar tissue than go to bed every night with those memories haunting me, forcing me to watch myself get pulled in directions I never would've gone on my own, showing me exactly what I can do if given the power. We're all vulnerable to demons, I've had it drilled into me since I was a child. But we're also made to believe the demons are something outside of ourselves; that I corrupted a good spirit of the Fade is more than enough for me to live with. I don't know if I could if I had all the rest weighing me down. So I'm missing a decade," he shrugged with a put-on nonchalance, "lots of drunkards are missing a lot more than that."

"Are you sure? I may not live long enough to make the offer a second time."

Petra entered then with the tea, setting the tray down on the side table and standing quietly beside Alistair.

Anders looked down at where Marian's hand was entwined with his and back up at his old teacher. "Yes," he nodded. "Whether I remembered or not, I needed to move forward. I think I can do that better if my past isn't haunting me in explicit detail."

"A clean slate," Wynne said with a degree of fondness. "Not many of us get that chance. Use it wisely."

Anders cracked a smile. "Since when have you ever known me to do _anything_ wisely?"

She chuckled again. "That's why I'm telling you—so I can at least say I did my part."

"You told me so."

"And that's all I can do."

"Well," Anders took his hand from Marian's and rubbed his together with a clap. "What sort of eats you got in this joint? Alistair and his girl here have a date with some mutton stew," he thumbed at their companions, who had been watching the entire exchange. Only Marian and Wynne were party to their expressions, which seemed both shocked and embarrassed. She hid her smile behind her hand and watched Anders head to the kitchen.

Sensing that Anders needed a moment to himself, Marian stayed behind in the room, chatting with Wynne and chuckling at her teasing comments directed at Alistair and Petra.

At one point she directed Petra to get her knitting basket where she removed a length of warm, green-dyed wool. "The last scarf I shall ever make, I think," she chuckled, directing Alistair to lean over so she could wrap it around his neck.

"You say that, but I'm sure this time next year, I'll be picking up another one," Alistair protested with an attempt at lightheartedness.

Wynne smiled. "No. This time I know. I will return to the Maker's side very soon now. Before winter." She patted his cheek. "Don't look so gloomy. I've been predicting my imminent death for ten years. It will be a relief to be finally proven right." Wynne sat back with a sigh, looking tired. "I wonder if you will come back later, Alistair? I think I might take an afternoon cat nap."

"Of course." Alistair helped the older woman stand and shuffle to the bed.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Marian," Wynne said, sitting down. "Protect what you have with Anders. It does my heart good to see him happy and loved."

#

Out in the kitchen they found Anders happily munching on a sandwich. "Want some?" he said thickly, offering Marian a bite. She crinkled her nose at him.

"I will stay a few minutes to make sure she is settled," Petra said to Alistair as they prepared to leave.

"Of course. Shall I, um, meet you... later? I mean, of course, if you want to."

Petra smiled. "I'm thirty years old, Alistair. I know how this works."

Alistair coughed, blushing. "Right! Well. We should be off then. I have some Warden business left to do."

"And I have a honeymoon to continue," murmured Anders in Marian's ear, sending gooseflesh rippling across her skin.

"Alistair," Anders said as they left the house, "which inn were you taking Petra to later?"

"Hmm? Oh, the Eagle and Child just off the market district. Why?"

Anders snaked an arm around Marian's waist, pulling her close. "Because I wanted to pick a different one. One night on a cramped bunk in a Warden compound is not my idea of a proper honeymoon."

Alistair blushed and cleared his throat. "Well, don't get into any trouble by yourselves. I plan on heading back to Vigil's Keep in one piece with no templars or Seekers or any other fanatics dogging my heels."

"As you wish, ser," Anders said, sweeping a bow. Alistair rolled his eyes and took off down the street, lifting his hand once to wave goodbye.

He was barely out of hearing range when Anders let out a whoop and grabbed Marian by the waist, swinging her around. She laughed in surprise.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Well, Mrs. Eugene McGillicutty, I just feel..." He kissed her nose, "free. Lighter. Now, let's go find an inn before the world decides to throw something else at us."

#

For all the commotion the beginning of their trip had afforded them, it seemed that the Maker saw fit to let the trio be for the remainder of it. Alistair put up with a bit of good-natured ribbing when he met Anders and Marian at breakfast the next morning—though he had insisted he spent the night in the compound, it did not keep them from making ribald assumptions that made the man blush.

The morning they intended to set off a rider arrived as they were packing the wagons.

"Message for the Warden-Commander from Vigil's Keep! Urgent, ser!"

Alistair took the message from the rider and paid him a little extra to go and get himself a drink and to stable his horse—both of them looked near dead.

"Here, have a look," he passed the letter to Marian and Anders read over her shoulder.

"Varric's here!" Marian said with a happy smile. "He's in Amaranthine! At the Keep!" She frowned as she read more of the note. "The Seekers in Kirkwall... they interrogated him." Marian looked stricken a moment then shook her head. "He must be okay; otherwise he wouldn't be here."

Anders pursed his lips and blew a lock of hair out of his eyes. "This is the guy that wrote the letter about the Seekers, right? The dwarf?"

She nodded. "And probably the only one who'll believe us at our word about the whole," she flapped her hand in the air, "Justice thing."

"You didn't tell him? Then how did he know we were here?"

She flipped the letter over and there was nothing on the back so she handed it to Alistair. "I told him we were headed to the Wardens. In more discreet terms, of course."

"Of course. Something about a griffin roosting, I imagine?" he teased, recalling her less than secret message when they had been following the templars.

She elbowed him in the gut and he dramatically overplayed the injury, whimpering that he could not go on unless she kissed it better, but before they could get too out of hand, Alistair hustled them towards the wagon.

"If we're going to find out about these Seekers, I imagine we should get back to the Keep," he began herding them like wayward children and they complied, climbing up into the wagon.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to Petra?" Anders sing-songed as he helped Marian into the wagon.

"Petra and I have already said our goodbyes," Alistair managed blithely. "And it's none of your business!" he added hurriedly, striding away before Marian and Anders could start snickering in earnest. He climbed up with the driver and the wagon jolted as it began to pull out of the compound.

They got comfortable as they got through the city gates, Marian leaning into Anders's embrace as the wagon bumped down the dirt highway.

"So... what now?"

He snorted. "You're asking me? I am no longer the brains of this operation. I am perfectly content with letting you lead the way."

"Well, if they're looking for us in Kirkwall, I don't think they'll find anything. But if these Seekers are as good as everyone seems to think, who knows what they'll find. Of course, the fact that I don't even know where we're going next probably helps us. We'll just have to do our best and be unpredictable." She threaded her fingers with Anders' across her stomach.

"Well maybe we can get your friend Varric to help us out, throw them off the trail?" She shrugged and he leaned down to kiss her temple. "Have you ever been to the Anderfels?"

#

It was a pleasant trip back to the Keep. The road from Denerim into the arling of Amaranthine was well kept and generally safe. Several times they passed members of the Queen's Guard, patrolling the busiest highway in Ferelden to keep trade from the port city of Amaranthine flowing safely.

Even the bedrolls in a tent at night weren't too bad either. She and Anders had endured worse when on the run and the fact that he came willingly, eagerly to her arms this time around definitely a bonus.

She wondered, one night during their journey as her husband slept beside her, one arm thrown across her ribs, what it would be like to raise a child with this life. Her mother had not spoken of it very often. Of course, she wouldn't have spoken of harsh realities to children who wouldn't understand. Marian had only been 9 years old when they settled in Lothering. Still, she remembered being shaken awake dark nights, hearing whispered instructions from her mother. She remembered hefting a sleepy Carver on her back and following the tall, dark shape of her father away from wherever they were. It was a hard life, raising children on the run, but not impossible. And, if worse came to worse, she knew that Bethany would see to it that any child of Marian's would be taken care of.

But perhaps… Marian frowned, tracing her fingers through Anders's hair absently. The Seekers seemed torn. Leliana had seemed to indicate that though some of her order was still looking for Marian and Anders, others were busy with whatever the Tevinters were up to in Kirkwall. She shivered, pulling the blanket up further around her middle.

Beside her, Anders stirred in his sleep, a furrow wrinkling his brow. He began to toss a little, squirming in the blankets. A darkspawn dream; she'd seen them often enough to recognize the signs. His eyes popped open a moment later, wild and panicky, and he sat up, magic sparkling at his fingertips

"It's alright, it was just a dream," she soothed, stroking his arm. "Darkspawn?"

Anders shook his head, as if to clear out the lingering effects of the nightmare, and lay back down beside her, rubbing gently at her stomach. "I… I dreamed you were having a baby, but it was…" he swallowed, "well, the darkspawn interfered with the happy bits of that dream."

"Well, you're fine now and so am I." She kissed his forehead.

"I should tell you something," he said, pulling her close and adjusting the blanket around their shoulders. "I can't say too much, but one of the reasons Alistair's been all over Ferelden lately is because he's been recruiting. The Orlesian Commander—Caron—left things in shambles. Alistair says, and I agree, that he betrayed everything the Wardens stand for and now that he's disappeared…" Anders paused. "The Deep Roads aren't clearing out like the Architect—one of the talking darkspawn—promised."

"Yes, I remember Nathaniel saying as much." Marian said. "We went to rescue him and Bethany a few years after you moved in."

Anders grinned. "I got to rescue Nathaniel? Please tell me I got some gloating in."

She chuckled. "Yes, though it was cut unfortunately short what with the darkspawn attacking and all."

"Blast." Anders shifted and continued. "Alistair says he thinks the darkspawn are planning something again. All the Wardens at the Keep were having nightmares again. Alistair said they haven't been as bad as they were in the Blight, but the fact that we're having them at all is worrisome. Nightmares are supposed to… fade in the times between Blights." He paused. "Something's happening. That knot that Sister Leliana mentioned… somehow it's all coming together. I don't even know if it's intentionally related but it's all happening at the same time."

"The Anderfels are sounding pretty nice about now," she muttered. He chuckled and kissed the back of her neck.

Marian found Anders' hand beneath the covers, and brought it around to her stomach, holding tight to him.

#

When they finally reached the Vigil, Marian helped unload the wagons in the courtyard, stopping to stretch out her back with a wince.

"You and your sister are worse than dwarves when it comes to shiny objects." A thick finger prodded at the ring on her hand.

Marian looked down, mouth dropping open at the sight of Varric, who simply smirked at the expression on her face.

"Varric!" She fell to her knees and embraced him, and he patted her on the back, chuckling.

"Damn, if I'd know you two missed me that much I would've visited sooner," he teased. It made him happier than he would let show to see them again—it had been a long three years, and sometimes friends were hard to come by. He looked up at Anders. "Blondie," he nodded, a bit of wariness edging his friendly tone.

Anders looked at Marian. "Well, I suppose I better get used to this sort of thing, right?" She smiled and shrugged. Anders held out his hand to the dwarf. "Anders, Grey Warden, and recently de-possessed mage, at your service, ser Varric."

Varric raised a brow and looked from Anders's hand up at Marian and then pointed his thumb up at the mage. "This kid messing with me?"

She couldn't keep the grin off her face and shook her head. "Nope. Justice is _gone_. All that's left is Anders." She leaned into her husband (the word still gave her little thrills of happiness just thinking of it) and wrapped her arm around his.

"He still a complete failure when it comes to cards?"

Marian nodded, smiling, and Anders gave her an injured look. "Hey."

"It's true, Blondie, I don't think you could win if you counted cards, you're that bad."

Anders sniffed and picked at a bit of fuzz on his tunic. "I'll have you know I never had to win—I only ever played cards when the price for losing was taking off my clothes, and that always ended in a win for me, so..." he trailed off, feigning modesty despite how pleased he was with himself about those sorts of victories.

Varric burst out in laughter and it quickly became contagious, the three of them wiping tears from their eyes when Nathaniel, Bethany, and Sigrun came out to meet them.

"Varric says they're at the estate," Bethany said sadly as she pulled away from embracing her sister.

"Well, no matter what they find, we won't be here for them to find us by the time they come looking."

"Where will you go?" Nathaniel asked, arms crossed over his chest, but the scowl didn't seem so menacing. It seemed almost... longing.

"The Anderfels," Anders put in. "If we play our cards right, I might be able to call on family."

"The Anderfels?" Nathaniel raised a brow. "Family?"

Anders laughed. "I'm from there, you fool."

Everyone looked at each other a bit awkwardly—this tidbit of information something none of them had been privy to before.

"Anders isn't even my real name," he mused, idly picking dirt out from under his fingernails. Marian pushed him and he laughed, regaining his balance.

"That's not true."

"It is! The templars took me from my parents shortly after we crossed the Orlesian border into Ferelden. I couldn't speak a single word of the King's Tongue for weeks so they called me 'the Anders kid.'"

Marian narrowed her eyes. "What _is_ your real name?"

He reached out a finger and ran it down the bridge of her nose. "Maybe if you're good, I'll tell you. Though I don't think it's as fun as Eugene or Frederick or even _oh, ANDERS_," he mimicked in a high-pitched tone, which got him another punch to the shoulder. He laughed it off and pulled her close, hugging her body tightly to his.

"Who'd've ever thought it, Nate? You and me and sisters. That's a dirty story waiting to be told right there."

Marian pulled her face out of his tunic. "What?"

Anders grinned. "You don't think I'd send you off into the wild steppes of the Anderfels without your sister, did you? I talked to Alistair last night. He's written a letter to the First Warden at Weisshaupt and, unless they object, Nathaniel and Bethany are the privileged messengers."

Bethany pressed her hands against her face, smiling widely, while Marian just gaped. Anders pulled her in for a quick kiss. "Got you that time," he smirked.

"Hmph. I suppose we have no say in this?" Nathaniel groused, but there was a small grin curving the edge of his mouth.

"If I thought you would seriously object," said Alistair coming up, pack slung over his shoulder, "I would have sent Oghren instead."

Sigrun barked a laugh. "That's just mean, Commander. Send Oghren to a flat, Stone-forsaken land like the Anderfels? He's an Orzammar dwarf at heart; he'd likely go crazy without a mountain in view at all times."

"I take it that would make your going objectionable as well?" Alistair raised an eyebrow, a grin on his face.

Sigrun gaped at him for a moment. Varric nudged her arm gently. "What do you say, kiddo? I still haven't told you the story about how Hawke defeated a gang of bandits in her smallclothes."

"Hey!" Marian protested. "You weren't supposed to tell _anyone_ about that!"

"I want to hear it too," Anders spoke up, laughingly dodging a swing from Marian.

Sigrun sniggered. "Well, lay off the 'kiddo' part and I'll… think about it." She grinned, tattoos crinkling around her eyes. "Well, then I guess I'd better go pack."

Alistair turned to the rest of them, grin fading. "This isn't just a pleasure cruise, you know. The Anderfels are constantly threatened by darkspawn. The First Warden has a contingent of Wardens looking for the Architect—led by someone named Senior Warden Fiona—I didn't meet her in my time there, but you may well be under her command when you arrive. Anders," he turned to the mage, eyes serious, "circumstances being what they are, I don't expect you to aid our mission. But I know Nathaniel, Bethany, and Sigrun would gladly welcome any help you can provide on the way. Also, for what it may be worth, the First Warden is no respecter of the Chantry personally. He gives lip service to the Chant for political reasons, but that's it."

"All this to say…?"

"If you are in need, he may shelter you at Weisshaupt for a time. The First Warden dislikes encroachment into Warden affairs even less than I. He more of a king there than the actual king, and should he feel the need to tell the templars to get lost, they will leave nary a mote of dust in their wake."

"Thank you, Alistair, for everything." Marian reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat and blushing. "Well, don't you have packing to do? If the weather holds, you should set out by tomorrow. It will be a journey of several weeks, so best to start soon." He nodded at them and moved off deeper into the Keep.

"Hawke and Blondie," Varric shook his head, chuckling. "It's always something else with you two." Varric smirked. "I'm going to head on inside. Oghren said he could drink me under the table and still win at diamondback. I intend to prove him wrong. You ready to go?"

Marian looked up at Anders, who smiled down at her, and laced her fingers through his. "Yes. We're ready."

-END-

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><p>AN: Thank you everyone for the reviews and the favorites. We had a lot of fun writing this and we're glad you enjoyed it too.


	20. Something to come

**A/N:** And now, a little taste of something in the works...

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The claustrophobia is not new. He's lived with it for eons. What makes him nervous, why he can't sleep away the centuries, is that he can hear them. He can hear them whispering; he can hear them scratching, chipping away.

They're coming for him.

There's nowhere to escape - whether it was meant to be this way or if they've all just been victims of a terrible coincidence, he can't be sure. In turns he is terrified, as a creature such as himself should never be, and resigned; they will come for him, he will be corrupted by their very touch, and he will lose himself. He will no longer be what he was, no longer remember his true self.

It's still far away, but the scratching, the chattering, the digging...it keeps him awake sometimes.

_... [and a bit from a later chapter]_

Gretchen took the pot from the oven and poured a steaming liquid into two mugs.

"Are you sure I can't help...?" Marian said a little helplessly.

Gretchen shook her head, stirring a pinch of something into each of the mugs and stirring. "I'm fine. Here," she thrust the mugs in their hands.

Marian sipped and managed just barely not to cough, eyes streaming. It was hot, spiced cider—very strong cider. She would have to be careful. A whole mug of this and she'd be dancing the Remigold in her smalls on the roof. She caught Anders's knowing grin behind his mug and kicked him lightly underneath the table.

"So how long are you staying?" Theodor asked, massaging his wife's shoulders. "You are staying, aren't you? You must—we have so much to catch up on. Papa will want to know of you, how you've been."

Anders and Marian shared a look. "We... have no fixed plans, as of yet. But we were planning on staying in the village-"

Gretchen waved it off. "There's plenty of room here for family."

Anders hesitated, his fingers tightening on his mug. "I don't know if it's wise for me to stay—"

He broke off as a shuffling footstep stopped at the door. Marian looked up to see an old man with a cane stand in the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes sliding past her to lock in on Anders.

Anders rose so quickly that it startled Marian.

"Papa," he addressed the man in a quiet voice, hands clenching at his sides.

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><p><strong>AN:** Yes, we are writing the sequel. There will be more fun hijinks with the Ferelden Wardens (including Warden-Commander Alistair), fun times with Bethany, Nathaniel, Varric, Sigrun and many other familiar faces; and, as you can see above, a little detour into Anders's past. All that and more (an actual planned out PLOT!) will be coming. You can keep a story alert on this story if you like, and when we finally start uploading chapters of the sequel, I'll put something here to let you all know.


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